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Her laughing face was turned upward . 
From a drawing by C. M. RELYE A. 


THE NOVELS AND STORIES OF 
FRANK R. STOCKTON 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 



NEW TORE 

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS 
1900 



TWO COPIES RECEIVED, 


Library of Congress 

(fffiee of the 

MAY 1 2 1900 

Register of Copyright* 


~?Z 

( 


/2~//'pCC> 

FIRST COPY, 



Copyright, 1898, 1900, by 
Charles Scribner’s Sons 


THE DEVINNE PRES8. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

i Dr. Tolbridge 3 

ii Miss Panney 13 

hi Brother and Sister ..... 22 
iy The Home 29 

Y Panneyopathy 44 

yi Mrs. Tolbridge’s Callers ... 54 

yii Dora Bannister Takes Time and a 

Mare by the Forelock . . .60 

yiii Mrs. Tolbridge’s Report is not 

Accepted 75 

ix John Wesley and Lorenzo Dow at 

Luncheon 87 

x A Silk Gown and a Bottle . . 98 

xi Two Girls and a Calf .... 106 

xii To Eat with the Family . . . 115 

xiii Dora’s New Mind 126 

xiy Good Night 132 

xy Miss Panney is Aroused to Help and 

Hinder 140 


v 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER 

xvi “Keep Her to Help You” 
xvii Judith Pacewalk’s Teaberry Gown 

xviii Blarney Fluff 

xix Miss Panney is “Took Sudden”. 
xx The Teaberry Gown is too Large 

xxi The Hranes and their Quarters . 

xxii A Trespass 

xxiii The Haverley Finances and Mrs. 

Robinson 

xxrv The Doctor’s Mission 
xxv Bombshells and Bromide 
xxvi Dora Comes and Sees 
xxvii “It Couldn’t be Better than 

That ” 

xxviii The Game is Called 
xxix Hypothesis and Innuendo . 
xxx A Confidential Announcement 
xxxi The Teaberry Gown is Donned . 
xxxii Miss Panney Feels She must 
Change her Plans . 
xxxiii La Fleur Looks Futureward . 
xxxrv A Plan which seems to Suit 

Everybody 

xxxv Miss Panney has Teeth enough 
Left to Bite with 
xxxvi A Cry from the Sea 
xxxvii La Fleur Assumes Responsibilities 
xxxviii Cicely Reads by Moonlight 


PAGE 

148 

156 

165 

175 

180 

191 

201 

210 

219 

226 

236 

245 

256 

268 

277 

289 

299 

310 

319 

327 

335 

343 

354 


vi 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

xxxix Undisturbed Lettuce .... 362 

xl Angry Waves 369 

xli Panneyopathy and the Ash-hole . 380 
xlii An Interviewer .... 390 

xliii The Siren and the Iron . . . 397 

xliv La Fleur’s Soul Revels, and Miss 

Panney Prepares to Make a Fire 405 







THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


CHAPTER I 

DR. TOLBRIDGE 

I T was about the middle of a March afternoon when 
Dr. Tolbridge, giving his horse and buggy into 
the charge of his stable-boy, entered the warm hall 
of his house. His wife was delighted to see him. He 
had not been at home since noon of the preceding day. 

“Yes,” said he, as he took off his gloves and over- 
coat, “the Par dell boy is better, but I found him in a 
desperate condition.” 

“I knew that,” said Mrs. Tolbridge, “when you told 
me in your note that you would be obliged to stay 
with him all night.” 

The doctor now walked into his study, changed his 
overcoat for a well-worn smoking-jacket, and seated 
himself in an easy-chair before the fire. His wife sat 
by him. 

“Thank you,” he said, in answer to her inquiries, 
“but I do not want anything to eat. After I had 
gone my round this morning I went back to the Par- 
dells’, and had my dinner there. The boy is doing 
very well. Ho, I was not up all night. I had some 
hours’ sleep on the big sofa.” 

3 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“Which doesn’t count for much/’ said his wife. 

“It counts for some hours/’ he replied, “and Mrs. 
Pardell did not sleep at all.” 

Dr. Tolbridge, a man of moderate height, and com- 
pactly built, with some touches of gray in his full, 
short beard, and all the light of youth in his blue 
eyes, had been for years the leading physician in and 
about Thorbury. He lived on the outskirts of the 
little town, but the lines of his practice extended in 
every direction into the surrounding country. 

The doctor’s wife was younger than he was. She 
had a high opinion of him, and had learned to diag- 
nose him, mentally, morally, and physically, with con- 
siderable correctness. It may be asserted, in fact, that 
the doctor seldom made a diagnosis of a patient as ex- 
act as those she made of him. But then, it must be 
remembered that she had only one person to exert 
her skill upon, while he had many. 

The Tolbridge house was one of the best in the 
town, but the family was small. There was but one 
child, a boy of fourteen, who was now away at school. 
The doctor had readjusted the logs upon the andirons, 
and was just putting the tongs in their place when a 
maid-servant came in. 

“There’s a boy here, sir,” she said, “from Miss 
Panney. She’s sent for you in a hurry.” 

In the same instant the doctor and his wife turned 
in their chairs and fixed their eyes upon the servant. 
But there was nothing remarkable about her. She 
had delivered her message and stood waiting. The 
doctor’s fists were clenched and there was a glitter in 
his eye. He seemed on the point of saying something 
in a loud voice, but he changed his mind, and quietly 

4 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


said, “Tell the boy to come here,” and turned back 
to the fire. Then, when the girl had gone, he struck 
his fist upon his knee and ejaculated, “Confound Miss 
Panney ! ” 

“Harry ! ” exclaimed his wife, “you should not 
speak of your patients in that way, but I agree with 
you perfectly.” And then, addressing the boy, who 
had just entered, and who stood by the door, “Do you 
mean to say that there is anything serious the matter 
with Miss Panney?” she said severely. “Does she 
really want to see the doctor immediately ? ” 

“That’s what they told me, ma’am,” said the boy, 
looking about him at the books and the furniture. 
“They told me that she was took bad, and that I 
must come here first to tell the doctor to come right 
away, and if he wasn’t at home to leave that message.” 

“How did you come?” asked Mrs. Tolbridge. “On 
horseback ? ” 

“Ho, ma’am ; with a wagon.” 

“You could have come a great deal quicker without 
the wagon,” said she. 

“Oh, yes, but then I’ve got to stop at the store go- 
ing back.” 

“That will do,” said Mrs. Tolbridge. “You can go 
now and attend to your other business.” 

The doctor was quietly looking into the fire, and as 
his wife turned to him he gave a little snort. 

“I was just beginning to get up enough energy,” he 
remarked, “to think of putting on my slippers.” 

“Well, put them on,” said she, in a very decided 
tone. 

“Ho,” replied the doctor, “that will not do. Of 
course, I must go to her.” 


5 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“' Yon mustn’t do anything of the kind ! ” exclaimed 
Mrs. Tolbridge, her eyes sparkling. “How many 
times by night and by day has that woman called you 
away on a fool’s errand? It is as likely as not that 
there is nothing more the matter with her than there 
is with me. She has no right to worry the life out of 
you in this way. She ought to have gone to heaven 
long ago.” 

“You shouldn’t talk of my patients in that way, 
Kitty,” said the doctor. “And, in the opinion of a 
good many of her neighbors, the old lady is not bound 
for heaven.” 

“I don’t care where she is going, but one thing is 
certain : you are not going to her this afternoon— 
you are not fit for it.” 

“You must remember, Kitty,” said the doctor, 
“that Miss Panney is an old lady, and though she may 
sound many a false alarm, the true alarm is to be ex- 
pected. And I would much prefer to go by daylight 
than to wait until after supper. The roads are bad, 
the air is raw, and she would keep me nobody knows 
how late. I want to go to bed early to-night.” 

“And that is what you are going to do,” said Mrs. 
Tolbridge. 

He looked at her inquiringly. 

“Harry,” said she, “you have been up nearly all 
night, you have been working the greater part of this 
day, and I do not intend to let you drive three miles 
to be nearly talked to death by Racilia Panney. Ho, 
you needn’t shake your head in that way. She is not 
to be neglected. I shall go myself and see what is the 
matter with her, and if it is really anything serious, I 
can then let you know. I do not believe she would 

6 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


have sent for you at all if she had not known the 
wagon was going to town.” 

“But, my dear,” said the doctor, “you cannot—” 

“Yes, I can,” interrupted his wife. “I want some 
fresh air, and shall enjoy the drive, and Buckskin has 
done nothing for two days. I shall take the cart, 
Tom can get up behind, and I can go there in less 
than half an hour.” 

“But if there really is anything the matter—” said 
the doctor. 

“It’s just as likely as not,” interrupted his wife, 
“that what she wants is somebody to talk to, and 
that a minister or a lawyer or a stranger from foreign 
parts would do just as well as you. And now, put on 
your slippers, push the sofa up to the fire, and take 
your nap, and I’ll go and see how the case really 
stands.” 

The doctor smiled. “I have no more to say,” said 
he. “There are angels who bless us by coming, and 
there are angels who bless us by going. You belong 
to both classes. But don’t stay too long.” 

“In any case I shall be back before dark,” she said. 
And, with a kiss on his forehead, she left him. 

Dr. Tolbridge looked into the fire and considered. 

“Ought I to let her go?” he asked himself. This 
question, mingled with various thoughts and recollec- 
tions of former experiences with Miss Panney, occu- 
pied the doctor’s mind until he heard the swift rolling 
of the dog-cart wheels as they passed his window. 
Then he arose, put on his slippers, drew up the soft 
cushioned sofa, and lay down for a nap. 

In about half an hour he was aroused by the an- 
nouncement that Miss Bannister had called to see him. 


7 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Long practice in that sort of thing made him wake 
in an instant, and the young lady who was ushered 
into the study had no idea that she had disturbed the 
nap of a tired man. She was a very pretty girl, hand- 
somely dressed. She had large blue eyes, and a very 
gentle and sweet expression, tinged, however, by an 
anxious sadness. 

“Who is sick, Miss Dora?” asked the doctor, 
quickly, as he shook hands with her. 

She did not seem to understand him. “Nobody,” 
she said. “That is, I have come to see you about 
myself.” 

“ Oh ! ” said he. 1 1 Pray take a seat. I imagined from 
your face,” he continued, with a smile, “that some 
one of your family was in desperate need of a doctor.” 

“No,” said she, “it is I. For a long time I have 
thought of consulting you, and to-day I felt I must 
come.” 

“And what is the matter? ” he asked. 

“Doctor,” said she, a tear forcing itself into each of 
her beautiful eyes, “I believe I am losing my mind.” 

“Indeed,” said the doctor. “And how is your gen- 
eral health?” 

“Oh, that’s all right,” answered Miss Dora. “I do 
not think there is the least thing the matter with me 
that way. It is all my mind. It has been failing me 
for a good while.” 

“How? ” he asked. “What are the symptoms? ” 

“Oh, there are ever so many of them,” she said. 
“I can’t think of them all. I have lost all interest in 
everything in this world. You remember how much 
interest I used to take in things ? ” 

“Indeed I do,” said he. 


8 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“The world is getting to he all a blank to me,” she 
said. “Everything is blank.” 

“Your meals?” he asked. 

“No,” she said. “Of course, I must eat to live.” 

“And sleep?” 

“Oh, I sleep well enough. Indeed, I wish I could 
sleep all the time, so that I could not know how the 
world— at least, its pleasures and affections— are pass- 
ing away from me. All this is dreadful, doctor, when 
you come to think of it. I have thought and thought 
and thought about it, until it has become perfectly 
plain to me that I am losing my mind.” 

Dr. Tolbridge looked into the fire. 

“Well,” said he, presently, “I am glad to hear it.” 

Miss Dora sprang to her feet. 

“Oh, sit down,” said he, “and let me explain myself. 
My advice is, if you lose your mind, don’t mind the 
loss. It really will do you good. That sounds hard 
and cruel, doesn’t it? But wait a bit. It often hap- 
pens that the minds of young people are like their 
first teeth— what are called milk teeth, you know. 
These minds and these teeth do very well for a time, 
but after a while they become unable to perform the 
services which will be demanded of them, and they 
are shed, or, at least, they ought to be. Sometimes, 
of course, they have to be extracted.” 

“Nonsense, doctor,” said the young lady, smiling in 
spite of herself. “You cannot extract a mind.” 

“Well, perhaps not exactly that,” he answered, 
“but we can help it to be absorbed and to disappear, 
and so make a way for the strong, vigorous mind of 
maturity, which is certain to succeed it. All this has 
happened and is happening to you, Miss Dora. You 
9 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


have lost your milk mind, and the sooner it is gone, 
the better. You will be delighted with the one that 
succeeds it. Now, then, can you give me an idea 
about how angry you are ? ” 

“I am not angry at all,” she replied, “but I feel 
humiliated. You think my mental sufferings are all 
fanciful.” 

“Oh, no,” said the doctor. “To continue the dental 
simile, they are the last aches of your youthful men- 
tality, forced to make way for the intellect of a 
woman.” 

Miss Bannister looked out of the window for a few 
moments. 

“Doctor,” she then said, “I do not believe there is 
any one else who knows me who would tell me that 
I have the mind of a child.” 

“Oh, no,” replied Dr. Tolbridge, “for it is not likely 
that there is any one else to whom you have made the 
fact known.” 

There was a quick flush on the face of Miss Dora, 
and a flash in her blue eyes, and she reached out her 
hand toward her muff, which lay on the table beside 
her, but she changed her purpose and drew back her 
hand. 

The doctor looked at her with a smile. 

“You were just on the point of jumping up and 
leaving the room without a word, weren’t you?” 

“Yes, I was,” said she, “and I have a great mind 
to do it now ; but first I must — ” 

“Miss Dora,” said the doctor, “I am delighted. 
Actually you are cutting your new mind. Before you 
can realize the fact, you will have it all full formed 
and ready for use. Let me see. This is the ninth 


10 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


of March— bad roads, bad weather, no walking, no 
driving, nothing inspiriting, disagreeable indoors and 
out. I think the full change will occur within three 
weeks. By the end of this month you will not only 
have forgotten that your milk mind has troubled you, 
but that the world was ever blank, and that your joys 
and affections were ever on the point of passing away 
from you. You will then be the brave-hearted, 
bright-spirited woman that nature intended you to 
be, after she had passed you through some of the pre- 
liminary stages.” 

The flush on the face of Miss Dora gradually passed 
away as she listened to this speech. She rose. 

“Doctor,” said she, “I like that better than what 
you have been saying. Anyway, I shall not be angry, 
and I shall wait three weeks and see what happens, 
and if everything is all wrong then, the responsibility 
will rest on you.” 

“Very good,” said he. “I agree to the terms. It 
is a bargain.” 

Now Miss Dora seemed troubled again. She took 
up her muff, put it down, drew her furs about her, 
then let them fall again, and finally turned toward 
the physician, who had also risen. 

“Doctor,” she said, “I don’t want you to put this 
visit in the family bill. I wish to — to attend to it 
myself. How much should I pay you?” And she 
took out her little pocket-book. 

Dr. Tolbridge put his hands behind him. 

“This case is out of my usual line of practice,” he 
said, “and my ordinary schedule of fees does not apply 
to it. For advice such as I have given you I never 
charge money. I take nothing but cats.” 

11 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“What!” exclaimed Miss Dora. “What on earth 
do you mean ? ” 

“I mean cats/’ lie replied, “or rather kittens. I 
am very fond of kittens, and at present we have not 
one in the house. So, if you have a kitten—” 

“Dr. Tolbridge,” cried Miss Dora, her eyes spar- 
kling, “do you really mean that? Would you truly 
like to have an Angora kitten ? ” 

“That is exactly the breed I want,” he answered. 
“Why, I have five,” she said. “They are only four 
days old, and perfect beauties. I shall be charmed to 
give you one, and I will pick out the very prettiest 
for you. As soon as it is old enough, I will bring it 
to you, already named, and with a ribbon on its 
neck. What color would you like the ribbon to be ? ” 
“For Angoras, blue,” he said. “I shall be so glad 
to have a kitten like that. But remember that you 
must not bring it to me until its eyes are opened, and 
it has—” 

“Doctor,” interrupted Miss Dora, raising her fore- 
finger, “you were just on the point of saying, ‘and 
has shed its milk mind.’ Now I am going away be- 
fore you make me angry again.” 

When his patient had gone, Dr. Tolbridge put an- 
other log on the fire, shook up the cushions of the 
sofa, and lay down to continue his nap. 


12 


CHAPTER II 


MISS PANNEY 

The Witton family, distant relatives of Miss Panney, 
with whom she had lived for many years, resided on 
a farm in the hilly country above Thorbury, and when 
Mrs. Tolbridge had rattled through the town, she 
found the country road very rough and bad— hard 
and bumpy in some places, and soft and muddy in 
others. But Buckskin was in fine spirits and pulled 
her bravely on. 

When she reached the Witton house she left the 
horse in charge of the boy, and, opening the hall door, 
went directly up to Miss Panney’s room. Knocking, 
she waited some little time for an answer, and then 
was told, in a clear, high voice, to come in. The 
room was large and well lighted. Against one of the 
walls stood a high-posted bed with a canopy, and on 
one of the pillows of the bed appeared the head of an 
elderly woman, the skin darkened and wrinkled by 
time, the nose aquiline, and the black eyes very sharp 
and quick of movement. This head was surrounded 
by the frills of a freshly laundered nightcap, and the 
smooth white coverlet was drawn up close under its 
chin. 


13 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“Upon my word ! ” exclaimed the person in the bed, 
“is that you, Mrs. Tolbridge? I thought it was the 
doctor.” 

“I don’t wonder at that, Miss Panney,” said Mrs. 
Tolbridge. “At times we have very much the same 
sort of knock.” 

“But where is the doctor? ” asked the old lady. 

“I hope he is at home and asleep,” was the reply. 
“He has been working very hard lately, and was 
up the greater part of last night. He was coming 
here when he received your message, but I told him 
he should not do it. I would come myself, and if I 
found it absolutely necessary that you should see him, 
I would let him know. And now what is the trouble, 
Miss Panney?” 

Miss Panney fixed her eyes steadfastly upon her 
visitor, who had taken a seat by the bedside. 

“Catherine Tolbridge,” said she, “do you know 
what will happen to you if you don’t look out? 
You’ll lose that man.” 

“Lose him ! ” exclaimed the other. 

“Yes, just that,” replied the old lady. “I have seen 
it over and over again. Down they drop, right in the 
middle of their harness. And the stouter and sturdier 
they are, the worse it is for them. They think they 
can do anything, and they do it. I’ll back a skinny 
doctor against a burly one, any day. He knows there 
are things he can’t do. He doesn’t try, and he keeps 
afloat.” 

“That is exactly what I am trying to do,” said the 
doctor’s wife. “And if those are your opinions, Miss 
Panney, don’t you think that the doctor’s patients 
ought to have a regard for his health, and that they 
14 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


ought not to make him come to them in all sorts of 
weather, and at all hours of the day, unless there is 
something serious the matter with them? Now, I 
don’t believe there is anything serious the matter 
with you to-day.” 

“ There is always something serious the matter with 
a person of my age,” said Miss Panney, “and as for Dr. 
Tolbridge’s visits to me doing him any harm, it is all 
stuff and nonsense. They do him good. They rest him, 
they brighten him up. He’s never livelier than when 
he is with me. He doesn’t have to hang over me all 
the night, giving me this and that to keep the breath 
in my body, when he ought to be taking the rest that 
he needs more than any of us.” 

Mrs. Tolbridge laughed. “No, indeed,” said she. 
“ He never has to do anything of that kind for 
you. I believe you are the healthiest patient he 
has.” 

“That may be,” said the other, “and it is much to 
his credit, and to mine, too. I know when I want a 
doctor. I don’t send for him when I am in the last 
stages of anything. But we won’t talk anything more 
about that. I want to know all about your husband. 
Do you think he is really out of health ? ” 

“No,” said Mrs. Tolbridge. “He is simply over- 
worked, and needs rest— just the sort of rest I hope 
he is getting this afternoon.” 

“Nonsense!” said Miss Panney. “Best is well 
enough, but you must give him more than that, if you 
do not want to see him break down. You must give 
him good victuals. Best, without the best of food, 
amounts to little in his case.” 

“Truly, Miss Panney!” exclaimed her visitor, “I 

15 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


think I give my husband as good living as any one in 
Thorbury has or can expect.” 

“Humph ! ” said the old lady. “He may have all 
that, and yet be starving before your eyes. There 
isn’t a man, woman, or child, in or about Thorbury, 
who really lives well— excepting, perhaps, myself.” 

Mrs. Tolbridge smiled. “I think you do manage 
to live very well, Miss Panney.” 

“Yes,” said the other, “and I’d like to manage to 
have my friends live well, too. By the way, did you 
ever make rum-flake for the doctor, when he comes in 
tired and faint?” 

“I never heard of it,” replied the other. 

“I thought as much,” said Miss Panney. “Well, 
you take the whites of two eggs and beat them up, 
and while you are beating you sprinkle rum over the 
egg from a pepper-caster, which you ought to keep 
clean to use for this and nothing else. Then you 
should sift in sugar according to taste, and when you 
have put a dry macaroon, which has been soaking in 
rum all this time, in the bottom of a glass saucer, you 
pile the flake over it, and it’s ready for him, except 
that sometimes you put in— let me see !— a little 
orange juice, I think. But I’ve got the recipe there in 
my scrap-book, and I can find it in a minute.” So 
saying, the old lady threw aside the coverlet, and 
jumped to the floor with the activity of a cat. 

Mrs. Tolbridge burst out laughing. 

“I declare, Miss Panney ! ” she exclaimed, “you 
have your dress on.” 

“What of that?” said the old lady, opening a 
drawer. “A warm dress is a good thing to wear— at 
least, I have always found it so.” 

16 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“But not with a nightcap/’ said the other. 

“That depends on circumstances/’ said Miss Panney, 
turning over the pages of a large scrap-book. 

“And shoes,” continued Mrs. Tolbridge, laughing 
again. 

“Shoes ! ” cried Miss Panney, pushing out one foot 
and looking at it. “Well, truly, that was an over- 
sight. But here is the recipe.” And, without the aid 
of spectacles, she began to read. “It’s exactly as I 
told you,” she said presently, “except that some 
people use sponge-cake instead of macaroons. The 
orange juice depends on individual taste. Shall I 
write that out for you, or will you remember it ? ” 

“Oh, I can remember it,” said the other. “But tell 
me, Miss Panney—” 

“Well, then,” said the old lady, “make it for him, 
and see how he likes it. There is one thing, Mrs. 
Tolbridge, that you should never forget, and that is 
that the doctor is not only your husband, but the 
mainstay of the community.” 

“Oh, I know that, and accept the responsibility. 
But you must tell me why you are in bed with all 
your clothes on. I believe that you did not expect 
the doctor so soon, and when you heard my knock, 
you clapped on your nightcap and jumped into bed.” 

“Catherine,” quietly remarked the old lady, “there 
is nothing so discouraging to a doctor as to find a 
person who has sent for him out of bed. If the pa- 
tient is up and about, she mystifies him. He is apt 
to make mistakes, he loses interest, he wonders if she 
couldn’t come to him instead of his having to go to 
her. But when he finds the ailing person in bed, the 
case is natural and straightforward. He feels at home, 
17 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


and knows how to go to work. If you believe in a 
doctor, you ought to make him believe in you. And 
if you are in bed, he will believe in you, and if you 
are out of it, he is apt not to. More than that, Mrs. 
Tolbridge, there is no greater compliment that you 
can pay to a physician you have sent for than to 
have him find you in bed.” 

The doctor’s wife laughed. She thought, but she 
did not say so, that probably this old lady had paid 
her husband a great many compliments. 

“Well, Miss Panney,” she said, rising, “what report 
shall I make 1 ” 

The old lady took off her nightcap, and replaced it 
with her ordinary head-gear of lace and ribbons. 

“Have you heard anything,” she asked, “of the 
young man who is coming to Cobhurst? ” 

“Ho,” said Mrs. Tolbridge, “nothing at all.” 

“Well,” continued Miss Panney, “I think the doc- 
tor knows something about him through old Butter- 
wood. I have an idea that I know something about 
him myself, but I wanted to talk to the doctor about 
him. Of course, this is a mere secondary matter. My 
back has been troubling me a good deal lately, but as 
the doctor is so pushed, I won’t ask him to come here 
on purpose to see me. If he’s in the neighborhood, I 
shall be very glad to have him call. For the present, 
I shall try some of the old liniments. Dear knows, I 
have enough of them, dating back for years and 
years.” 

“But it will not do to make any mistakes, Miss 
Panney. Those old prescriptions might not suit you 
now.” 

“Don’t trouble yourself in the least about that,” 
18 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


said the old lady, lifting her hand impressively. 
“Medicine never injures me. Not a drop of it do I 
ever take inside of me, prescription or no prescrip- 
tion. But I don’t mind putting things on the outside 
of me— of course, I mean in reason, for there are out- 
side applications that would ruin the constitution of 
a jack-screw.” 

There were very few people in the neighborhood 
of Thorbury who were older than Miss Panney, and 
very few of any age who were as alert in both mind 
and body. She had been born in this region, had left 
it in her youth, and had returned about thirty years 
ago, when she had taken up her abode with the Wit- 
tons, who at that time were a newly married couple. 
They were now middle-aged people, but Miss Panney 
still lived with them, and seemed to be very much the 
same old lady as she was when she arrived. She was 
a woman who kept a good deal to herself, having 
many resources for her active mind. With many 
people who were not acquainted with her socially, but 
knew all about her, she had the reputation of being 
wicked. The principal reason for this belief was the 
well-known fact that she always took her breakfast in 
bed. This was considered to be a French habit, and 
the French were looked upon as infidels. Moreover, 
she never went to church, and, when questioned upon 
this subject, had been known to answer that she could 
not listen with patience to a sermon, for she had 
never heard one without thinking that she could 
preach on that subject a great deal better than the 
man in the pulpit. 

In spite of this fact, however, the rector of the 
Episcopal Church of Thorbury and the Methodist 
19 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


minister were both great friends of Miss Panney, and 
although she did not come to hear them, they liked 
very much to go to hear her. Mr. Hampton, the 
Methodist, would talk to her about flower-gardening 
and the bygone people and ways of the region, while 
Mr. Ames, the rector, who was a young man, did not 
hesitate to assert that he frequently got very good 
hints for passages in his sermons from remarks made 
by Miss Panney about things that were going on in 
the religious and social world. 

But, although Miss Panney took pleasure in the 
company of clergymen and physicians, she boldly as- 
serted that she liked lawyers better. 

“In the law,’ 7 she would say, “you find things fixed 
and settled. A law is a law, the same for everybody, 
and no matter how much people may wrangle and 
dispute about it, it is there, and you can read it for 
yourself. But the practice of medicine has to be 
shifted to suit individual cases, and the practice of 
theology is shifted to suit individual creeds, and you 
can’t put your finger on steady principles, as you can 
in law. When I put my finger down, I like to be 
sure what is under it.” 

Miss Panney had other reasons for liking lawyers, 
for her first real friend had been her legal guardian 
—old Mr. Bannister of Thorbury. She was one of 
the few people of the place who remembered this 
old gentleman, and she often told how shocked and 
pained she had been when summoned from boarding- 
school to attend his funeral, and how she had been 
impressed by the idea that the preparations for this 
important event consisted mainly in beating up eggs, 
stemming raisins, baking cakes and pies, and making 
20 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


all sorts of provision for the sumptuous entertainment 
of the people who should he drawn together by the 
death of the principal citizen of the town. To her 
mind, it would have been more appropriate had the 
company been fed on bread and water. 

Thomas Bannister, who succeeded to his father’s 
business, had been Miss Panney’s legal friend and 
counsellor for many years. But he, too, was dead, 
and the office had now devolved on Herbert Bannister, 
the grandson of the old gentleman, and the brother 
of Miss Dora. 

Herbert and Miss Panney were very good friends, 
but not yet cronies. He was still under thirty, and 
there were many events of the past of which he knew 
but little, and about which he could not wholly sym- 
pathize with her. But she believed that years would 
ripen him, and that the time would come when she 
would get along as well with him as she had with his 
father and grandfather. 

She was not supposed to be a rich woman, and she 
had not been much engaged in suits at law, but it was 
surprising how much legal business Miss Panney had, 
as well as business of many other kinds. 

When Mrs. Tolbridge had left her, the old lady put 
away her scrap-book, and prepared to go down-stairs. 

“It is a great pity,” she said to herself, “that one 
of the bodily ailments which is bound to show itself 
in the family in the course of the spring should not 
have turned up to-day. I want very much to talk to 
the doctor about the young man at Cobhurst, and I 
cannot drive about the country in such weather as 
this.” 


21 


CHAPTER III 


BROTHER AND SISTER 

There were other people in and around Thorbury 
who very much wanted to know something about the 
young man at Cobhurst, but this desire was interfered 
with by the fact that the young man was not yet at 
Cobhurst, and did not seem to be in a hurry to get 
there. 

Cobhurst was the name of an estate a mile or so 
from the Witton farm, whose wide fields had lain for 
a half a dozen years untilled, and whose fine old man- 
sion had been, for nearly a year, uninhabited. Its 
former owner, Matthias Butterwood, a bachelor, and, 
during the greater part of his life, a man who took 
great pride in his farm, his stock, and his fruit-trees, 
had been afflicted in his later years with various 
kinds of rheumatism, and had been led to wander 
about to different climates and different kinds of hot 
springs for the sake of physical betterment. 

When at home in these latter days, old Butterwood 
had been content to have his garden cultivated, for 
he could still hobble about and look at that, and had 
left his fields to take care of themselves, until he 
22 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


should be well enough to be his own farmer, as he had 
always been. But old age, coming to the aid of his 
other complaints, had carried him off a few months 
before this story begins. 

The only person now living at Cobhurst was a col- 
ored man named Mike, who inhabited the gardener’s 
house and held the office of caretaker of the place. 

Whenever Mike now came to town with his old 
wagon and horse, or when he was met on the road, he 
found people more and more inquisitive about the 
new owner of Cobhurst. Mike was not altogether a 
negro, having a good deal of Irish blood in his veins, 
and this conjunction of the two races in his individu- 
ality had had the effect upon his speech of destroying 
all tendency to negro dialect or Irish brogue, so that, 
in fact, he spoke like ordinary white people of his 
grade in life. The effect upon his character, however, 
had been somewhat different, and while the vivacity 
of the African and that of the Hibernian, in a degree, 
had neutralized each other, making him at times al- 
most as phlegmatic as the traditional Dutchman, he 
would sometimes exhibit the peculiarities of a Sambo, 
and sometimes those of a Paddy. 

Mike could give no satisfaction to his questioners. 
He knew nothing of the newcomer, except that he 
had received a postal card, directed to the man in 
charge of Cobhurst, which stated that Mr. Haverley 
would arrive there on the fourth of April. 

“More’n that,” Mike would say, “I don’t know 
nothin’. Whether he’s old or young, and what fam- 
ily he’s got, I can’t tell ye. All I know is that he 
don’t seem in no hurry to see his place, and he must 
be a reg’lar city man, or he’d know that winter’s the 
23 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

time to come to work a farm in the spring of the 
year.” 

Other people, however, knew more about Mr. 
Haverley than Mike did, and Miss Panney could have 
informed any one that he was a young man, unmar- 
ried, and a great-nephew to old Butterwood. She 
had faith that Dr. Tolbridge could give her some ad- 
ditional points, provided she could get an opportunity 
of properly questioning him. 

Meanwhile the days passed on, the roads about 
Thorbury dried up and grew better, in low, sheltered 
places the grass showed a greenish hue, the willows 
turned yellow, and people began to ponder over the 
catalogues of seed merchants. At last, it was the 
third of April, and on that day, in a large, bright 
room of a New York boarding-house, kneeling in 
front of an open trunk, were Mr. Ralph Haverley and 
his sister Miriam. 

Presently Miriam, whose years had not yet reached 
fifteen, vigorously pushed a pair of slippers into an 
unoccupied crevice in the trunk, and then, drawing 
back, seated herself on a stool. 

“The delightful thing about this packing is,” she 
said, “that it will never have to be done again. I 
am not going to any school, or any country place to 
board. You are not going to a hotel, nor to any house 
kept by other people. Our things do not have to be 
packed separately $ we can put them in anywhere 
where they will fit. We are both going to the same 
place. W e are going home, and there we shall 
stay.” 

“Always?” asked her brother, looking up with a 
smile. 


24 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“Always,” answered Miriam. “When one gets a 
home, one stays there. At least, I do.” 

“And yon will not even go away to school?” he 
asked. 

“By no means,” said his sister, looking at him with 
much earnestness. “I have been to school ever since 
I was six years old,— nearly nine years,— and I posi- 
tively declare that that is long enough for any girl. 
Others stay later, but then they do not begin so soon. 
As to finishing my education, as they call it, I shall 
do that at home. What a happy thought ! It makes 
me want to skip. And you are to be my teacher, 
Ralph. I am sure you know everything that I shall 
need to know.” 

Ralph laughed. 

“I suppose you will examine me to see what I do 
know,” he said, as he folded a heavy overcoat and laid 
it in the trunk. 

Miriam sprang up and began to collect more of her 
effects. 

“We shall see about that,” she said, and then, sud- 
denly stopping, she turned toward her brother. 
“There is one thing, Ralph, about which I need not 
examine you at all, and that is goodness of heart. If 
you had not had a very good heart indeed, you would 
not have waited and waited and waited — fairly pinch- 
ing yourself, I expect— till I could get away from 
school, and we could both go together and look at our 
new home in the very same instant.” 

Ralph Haverley was a brown-haired, bright-eyed 
young fellow under thirty. He had been educated 
for a profession, but the death of his parents, before 
he reached his majority, made it necessary for him to 
25 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


go to work at something by which he could immedi- 
ately earn money enough to support not only himself, 
but his little sister. At his father’s death, which oc- 
curred a month or two after that of his mother, young 
Haverley found that the family resources, which had 
never been great, had almost entirely disappeared. 
He could barely scrape together enough money to 
send Miriam to a boarding-school and to keep himself 
alive until he could get work. He had spent a great 
part of his boyhood in the country. His tastes and 
disposition inclined him to an outdoor life, and, had 
he been able, he would have gone to the West and 
established himself upon a ranch. But this was im- 
possible. He must do the work that was nearest at 
hand, and, as soon as he found it, he set himself at it 
with a will. 

For eight long years he had struggled and labored, 
changing his occupation several times, but always liv- 
ing in the city, always making his home in a board- 
ing-house or a hotel. His pluck and energy had had 
its reward, and for the past three years he had held a 
responsible and well-paid position in a mercantile 
house. But his life and his work had for him noth- 
ing but a passing interest. He had no sympathy with 
bonded warehouses, invoices, and ledgers. All he 
could look forward to was a higher position, a larger 
salary, and, when Miriam should graduate, a little 
home somewhere where she could keep house for him. 
In his dreams of this home, he would sometimes place 
it in the suburbs, where Sundays and holidays spent 
in country air would compensate for hasty breakfasts, 
early-morning trains, and late ones in the afternoon. 
But when he reflected that it would not do to leave 
26 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


his young sister alone all day in a thinly settled rural 
place, at the mercy of tramps, he was forced to the 
conclusion that the thing for them to do was to live 
in a city apartment. But there was nothing in either 
of these outlooks to create fervent longings in the 
soul of Ralph Haverley. 

For some legal reason, probably connected with the 
fact that old Butterwood died at a health resort in 
Arkansas, Haverley did not learn until late in the 
winter that his mother’s uncle had left to him the 
estate of Cobhurst. The reason for this bequest, as 
stated in the will, was the old man’s belief that the 
said Ralph Haverley was the only one of his blood- 
relations who seemed to be getting on in the world, 
and to him he left the house, farm, and all the per- 
sonal property he might find therein and thereon, but 
not one cent of money. Where the testator’s money 
was bestowed, Ralph did not know, for he did not see 
the will. 

When Ralph heard of his good fortune, his true 
life seemed to open before him. His Butterwood 
blood boiled in his veins. He did not hesitate a mo- 
ment as to his course, for he was of the opinion that 
if a healthy young man could not make a living out 
of a good farm, he did not deserve to live at all. He 
gave immediate notice of his intention to abandon 
mercantile life, and set himself to work by day and 
by night to wind up his business affairs, so that he 
might be free by the beginning of April. It was this 
work which helped him to control his desire to run 
off and take a look at Cobhurst without waiting for 
his sister. 

Of the place which was to be their home Miriam 
27 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


knew absolutely nothing. But Ralph had heard his 
mother talk about her visits to her uncle, and, in his 
mind, the name Cobhurst had always called up visions 
of wide halls and lofty chambers, broad piazzas, sunny 
slopes and lawns, green meadows, and avenues bor- 
dered with tall trees— a grand estate, in fact, with 
woods full of nuts, streams where a boy could fish, and 
horses that he might ride. Had these ideas existed 
in Miriam’s mind, the brother and sister would have 
visited Cobhurst the day after he brought her the let- 
ter from the lawyer. But her conceptions of the 
place were vague and without form, except when she 
associated it with the homes of girls she had visited. 
But as none of these suited her very well, she pre- 
ferred to fall back upon chaotic anticipation. 

“When I think of Cobhurst,” she wrote to her 
brother, “I smell marigolds, and think of rather poor 
blackberries that you pick from bushes. Please do 
not put in your letters anything that you know about 
it, for I would rather see everything for myself.” 


28 


CHAPTER IY 


THE HOME 

It was late in the afternoon when Ralph and Miriam 
Haverley alighted at the station at Thorbnry. Miss 
Dora Bannister, who had come down to see a friend 
off, noticed the two standing on the platform. She 
did not know who they were, but she thought the one 
to be a very handsome young man, and the other a 
nice-looking girl who seemed to be all eyes. 

“ What a queer-looking colored man ! ” said Miriam. 
“He looks mashed on top.” 

The person alluded to was getting down from a 
wagon drawn by a mournful horse, and now ap- 
proached the platform. 

“Is you Mr. Hav’ley, sir?” he said, touching his 
hat. “Thought so. I’m the man in charge o’ yer 
place. Got any baggage, sir?” 

On being informed that the travellers had brought 
three trunks with them, and that some boxes would 
be expected on the morrow, Mike, who, with his worn 
felt hat pressed flat upon his head, might give one the 
idea of a bottle with the cork driven in, stood for a 
moment in thought. 

“I can take one trunk,” he said,— “the one ye will 
want the most to-night,— and ye’d better have the 
29 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


others hauled over to-morrow with the boxes. Ye 
can both go in the wagon, if ye like. The seat can 
be pushed back, and I can sit on the trunk myself, or 
ye can hire a kerridge.” 

“Of course we will take a cab,” said Ealph. “How 
far is it to Cobhurst? ” 

“Well, some says three miles, and some says four. 
It depends a good deal on the roads. They’re pretty 
good to-day.” 

Having engaged the services of a country cabman, 
who declared that he had known Cobhurst ever since 
he was born, and having arranged for the transfer of 
their goods the next day, the Haverleys rattled out 
of the town. 

“Now,” said Miriam, “we are truly going home, 
and I do not remember ever doing that before. And, 
Ealph,” she continued, after gazing right and left from 
the cab windows, “one of the first things we ought to 
do is to get a new man to take charge of the place. 
That person isn’t fit. I never saw such slouchy 
clothes.” 

Ealph laughed. “I am the man who is to have 
charge of the place,” he said. “What do you think 
of my clothes ? ” 

Miriam gave a little pull at his hair for reply. 
“And there is another thing,” she continued. “If 
that is our horse and wagon, don’t you really think 
that we ought to sell them? They are awful.” 

“Don’t be in a hurry,” said Ealph. “We shall soon 
find out whether we own the horse or not. He may 
belong to the man. He’s not a bad one, either. See, 
he is passing us now with that big trunk in the 
wagon.” 


30 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“ Passing us!” exclaimed Miriam. “ Almost any 
horse could do that. Did you ever see such an old 
poke as we have, and such a bouncy, jolting rattletrap 
of a carriage f It squeaks all over.” 

“Alas!” said Ralph, “I am thinking of something 
worse than jolts or squeaks. I am hungry, and I am 
sure you must be, and I don’t see what we are going 
to do about supper. I am afraid I am not a very 
good manager, yet. I had an idea that Cobhurst was 
not so far from the station, and that we could go over 
and look at the house, and come back to a hotel and 
stay there for the night. But now I see it will be dark 
before we get there, and we shall not feel like turning 
round and going directly back. Perhaps it would be 
better to turn now.” 

“Turn back, when we are going to our home!” 
cried Miriam. “How can you think of such a thing, 
Ralph? And you needn’t suppose that neither of us 
is a good manager. I am housekeeper now, and I did 
not forget that we shall need our supper. I have it 
all there in my bag, and I shall cook it as soon as we 
reach the house. Of course, I knew that we could not 
expect anything to eat in a place with only a man to 
take care of it.” 

“What in the world have you? ” asked Ralph, much 
amused. 

“I have four breakfast-rolls,” she said, “six mutton- 
chops, a package of ground coffee, another of tea, a 
pound of sugar, and a good big piece of gingerbread. 
I am sorry I couldn’t bring any butter, but I was 
afraid that might melt in a warm car, and run over 
everything. As for milk, we shall have to make up 
our minds to do without that for one meal. I got up 
31 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

early this morning, and went out and bought all these 
things .’ 7 

Ralph was on the point of saying, “What are we 
going to have for breakfast?” but he would not 
trouble his sister’s mind with any such suggestions. 

“You are a good little housewife,” said he. “I 
wish we were there, and sitting down at the table — if 
there is any table.” 

“I have thought it all out,” said Miriam. “If it is 
one of those large farm-houses, with a big kitchen, 
where the family eat and spend their evening, we 
shall eat there, too, this once. You shall build a fire, 
and I’ll have the coffee made in no time. There must 
be a coffee-pot, or a tin cup, or something to boil in. 
The chops can be broiled over the coals.” 

“On what?” asked Ralph. 

“You can get a pointed stick, and toast them, if 
there is no other way, sir. You need not make fun 
of my supper. The chops are very nice ones, and I 
have wrapped them up in oiled silk, so that they 
will not grease the other things.” 

“Oh, don’t talk any more about them,” exclaimed 
Ralph. “It makes me too dreadfully hungry ! ” 

“If it is a cottage,” remarked Miriam, looking re- 
flectively out of the window, “I cannot get it out of 
mind that there will be all sorts of kitchen things 
hanging around the old-fashioned fireplace. That 
would be very nice and convenient, but—” 

“You hope it is not a cottage? ” said her brother. 

“Well,” answered Miriam, presently, “home is home, 
and I have made up my mind to be perfectly satisfied 
with it, whatever kind of house it may be. It seems 
to me that a real home ought to be like parents and 
32 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


relations. We’ve got them, and we can’t change them, 
and we never think of such a thing. We love them 
quite as they are. But I cannot help hoping, just a 
little, that it is not a cottage. The only ones I have 
ever been in smelt so much of soap-suds.” 

It was now quite dark, and the road appeared to 
be growing rougher. Every now and then they jolted 
over a big stone or sunk into a deep rut. Ralph let 
down the front window. 

“Are we nearly there?” he asked of the driver. 

“Yes, sir,” said the man. “We are on the place 
now.” 

“You don’t mean,” exclaimed Miriam, “that this is 
our road ! ” 

“It’s a good deal washed just here,” said the man, 
“by the heavy rains.” 

Presently the road became smoother, and in a few 
minutes the carriage stopped. 

“I am trembling all over,” said Miriam, “with 
thinking of being at home, and with not an idea of 
what it is like.” 

In a moment they were standing on a broad flag- 
stone. Although it was dark, they could see the out- 
line of the house before them. 

“Ralph,” whispered Miriam, drawing close to her 
brother, “it is not a cottage.” Without waiting for a 
reply, she went on. “Ralph,” she said, her hands 
trembling as they held his arm, “it is lordly ! ” 

“I had some sort of an idea like that myself,” he 
answered. “But, my dear, don’t you think it will be 
well to keep this man until we go inside and see what 
sort of accommodations we shall find? Perhaps we 
may be obliged to go back to the town.” 

33 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Miriam immediately began to ascend the broad 
steps of the piazza. 

“Come on, Ralph,” she said, “and please don’t talk 
like that.” 

Her brother laughed, paid the driver and dismissed 
him. 

“Now, little girl,” he cried, “we have burnt our 
ships, and must take what we shall find.” 

“Oh, Ralph,” cried Miriam, “I couldn’t have gone 
back. If there are floors to the rooms, they will do 
to sleep on for to-night.” 

At this moment a wide front door opened, revealing 
a colored woman holding a lamp. 

“Good evenin’,” said she. “Walk in.” 

When Ralph and Miriam had entered, the woman 
looked out the open door. 

“Is you all?” she asked. 

“Oh, yes,” said Ralph. 

The woman hesitated a moment, looked out again, 
and then closed the door. 

“Would you like to go to your rooms afore sup- 
per ? ” she asked. 

The brother and sister were so absorbed in gazing 
about them that they did not hear the question. 
The lamp, still in the woman’s hand, gave a poor and 
vacillating light, but they could see a wide, long hall, 
tall doors opening on each side, some high-backed 
chairs and other dark-colored furniture. 

“Yer rooms is ready,” continued the woman. “Ye 
can take yer pick of them. Supper’ll be on the table 
the minute ye come down. Ye’d better take this 
lamp, sir, and thar’s another one in the upper hall. 

34 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


I expect ye two is brother and sister. Ye’re alike as 
two pins of different sizes.” 

“ You’re right,” said Ralph, holding up the lamp 
and looking about him. “But please tell me, where 
are the stairs?” 

“Oh, yer open that glass door right in front of ye,” 
said the woman. “I’d go with yer, but I smell some- 
thin’ b’ilin’ over now.” 

Opening the glass door, they saw before them a 
narrow staircase in two flights. 

“Stairs shut up in a room of their own,” said Ralph, 
as they ascended. “Did you ever see anything like 
this before ? ” 

“I never saw anything like anything before,” said 
Miriam, in a low, reverent voice. 

On the floor above they found another wide hall, 
and four or five open doors. 

“There is your lamp,” said Ralph to his sister. 
“Take the first room you come to, and to-morrow we 
will pick and choose.” 

“Who would have thought,” said Miriam, “that a 
woman—” 

“Don’t let us think or talk of her now,” interrupted 
her brother. “To hurry down to supper is our pres- 
ent business.” 

When the two went down-stairs, they found the 
colored woman standing by an open door in the rear 
of the hall. 

“Supper’s ready, sir,” said she, and they entered 
the dining-room. 

It was a large and rather sparely furnished room, 
but Miriam and Ralph took no note of anything ex- 
35 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


cept the table, which stood in the middle of the floor, 
lighted by a hanging lamp. It was a large table, and 
arranged for eight people, with chairs at every place. 
The woman gave a little laugh as she said : 

“I reckon you-all may think this is a pretty big 
table for two people, and one not growed up, but, you 
see, I didn’t know nothin’ about the size of the family, 
and Mike he didn’t know nothin’, either. I’m Phoebe, 
Mike’s wife, and I ain’t got nothin’ in the world to do 
with this house, for mostly I go out to service in the 
town. But I’m here now, and, of course, we didn’t want 
you-all to come and find nothin’ to eat, and no beds 
made, and as you didn’t write no orders, sir, we had 
just to do the best we could, accordin’ to our own 
lights. I reckoned there would be the gemman and 
his wife, and perhaps two growed-up sons, though 
Mike he was doubtful about the growed-up sons, 
especially as to thar bein’ two of them. Then I reck- 
oned thar’d be a darter, just about your age, miss, and 
then there’d be two younger chillen, one a boy and 
one a girl, and a gov’ness for these two. Of course, I 
didn’t know whether the gov’ness was in the habit of 
eatin’ at your table or not, but I reckoned that this 
time, cornin’ so late, you’d all eat at the same table, 
and I put a plate and a cheer for her. And Mike went 
ter town, and got groc’ries and things enough for to- 
night and to-morrow. And as everything was ready, 
I just left everything as it was. I reckoned you 
wouldn’t want ter wait until I’d sot the whole table 
over again.” 

“By no means,” cried Ralph, and down they sat, 
Ralph at one end of the long table, and Miriam at the 
other. It was a good supper,— beefsteak, an omelet, 
36 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


hot rolls, fried potatoes, coffee, tea, preserved fruit,— 
and all on the scale suited to a family of eight. 

When Phoebe had retired to the kitchen, presuma- 
bly for additional supplies, Miriam stretched her 
arms over the table. “ Think of it, Ralph,” she said, 
“this is our supper— the first meal we ever truly 
owned.” 

They had not been long at the table when they 
were startled by the loud ringing of the door-bell. 

“’Pon my word,” ejaculated Phoebe, “it’s a long 
time since that bell’s been rung,” and putting down 
a plate of hotter biscuit, with which she had been 
offering temptations, she left the room. Presently 
she returned, ushering in Dr. Tolbridge. 

Briefly introducing himself, the doctor welcomed 
the brother and sister to the neighborhood of Thor- 
bury, and apologized for the extreme promptness of 
his call. 

“I heard you had arrived,” he said, “from a hack- 
man I met on the road, and having made a visit near 
by, I thought I would look in on you. It might be 
days before I should again have a chance. But don’t 
let me disturb your supper. I beg that you will sit 
down again.” 

“And I beg you, sir,” said Ralph, “to sit down with 
us.” 

“Well,” said the doctor, smiling, “I am hungry, 
and my own supper- time is past. You seem to 
have plenty of room for a guest.” 

“Oh, yes, indeed, sir,” said Miriam, who had already 
taken a fancy to the doctor’s genial face. “Phoebe 
thought we were a large family, and you can take the 
seat of one of the grown-up sons, or the daughter’s 
37 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


chair, or the place that was intended for either the 
little boy or little girl, or perhaps you would like the 
governess’s seat.” 

At this Phoebe turned her face to the wall and 
giggled. 

“A fine imagination,” said the doctor, “and, what 
is better, a bountiful meal. Please consider me, for 
the present, the smallest boy, who might naturally be 
supposed to have the biggest appetite.” 

“It would have been funnier,” said Miriam, gravely, 
“if you had been the governess.” 

The supper was a lively one. The three appetites 
were excellent. The doctor was in his j oiliest mood, 
and Ralph and Miriam were delighted with him. On 
his part, he could not help looking upon it in the 
light of a joke— an agreeable one, however— that 
these two young people, one of them a mere child, 
should constitute the new Cobhurst family. He had 
known that the property had gone to an unmarried 
man who was in business, and had not thought of his 
coming here to live. 

“And now,” said the doctor, as they rose from the 
table, “I must go. My wife will call on you very 
soon, and, in the meantime, what is there that I can 
do for you ? ” 

“I think,” answered Miriam, looking about her to 
see that Phoebe was not in the room, “that it would 
be very nice if you could get us a new man. We like 
the woman well enough, but the man is awful.” 

The doctor looked at her, astonished. 

“Do you mean Mike?” he asked,— “the faithful 
Mike, who has been in charge here ever since Mr. 
Butterwood took to travelling about for the good of 
38 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


his rheumatism? Why, my dear young lady, the 
whole country looks upon Mike as a pattern man of 
all work. He may he getting a little cranky and in- 
dependent in his notions, for he has been pretty much 
his own master for years, but I am sure you could find 
no one to take his place who would be more trust- 
worthy or so generally useful.” 

Ralph was about to explain that it was only the 
appearance of the man to which his sister objected, 
but she spoke for herself. 

“Of course, we oughtn’t always to judge people by 
their looks,” she said, “but in my thoughts about our 
home I never connected it with such a very shabby 
person. But then, if he is an old family servant, he 
may be the very kind of a man the place needs.” 

“Oh, I advise you to stick to Mike, by all means,” 
said the doctor, “and to Phoebe, too, if she will stay 
with you. But I think she prefers the town to this 
somewhat secluded place.” 

“A good omen,” said Ralph, as he closed the door 
after the doctor. “As a neighbor, I believe that man 
is at the head of his class, and I am very glad that he 
happened to be the first one who came to see us.” 

“Well,” said Miriam, “we haven’t seen the others 
yet, and I am glad that we don’t know whether this 
doctor is homoeopathic or allopathic, so that we can 
get started in liking him before we know whether we 
approve of his medicines or not.” 

“Upon my word,” cried Ralph, “I never knew that 
you had opinions about the different medical schools. 
Did they teach you that sort of thing at Mrs. Stone’s? ” 

“I suppose I can have opinions without having 
them taught to me, can’t I?” she answered. “I saw 

39 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


a lot of sickness among the girls, and I am homoeo- 
pathic.” 

“Stuff!” exclaimed Ealph. “I don’t believe you 
ever took any medicine in your life.” 

“I have not taken much,” answered Miriam, “but 
I have taken enough to settle it in my mind that I 
am never going to take any more of the same sort.” 

“And they were not little sugar pills?” 

“No, indeed they were not,” said Miriam, very 
decidedly. 

“I’ve made a fire in the parlor,” said Phoebe, com- 
ing in, “if you-all want to sit there afore you go to 
bed.” 

“I don’t want to sit anywhere,” cried Miriam, “and 
I am crazy to get a peep out of doors. Come on, 
Ealph, just for a minute.” 

Ealph followed her out on the piazza. 

“It’s awfully dark,” said Miriam, “but if we walk 
carefully, I think we can get far enough away from 
the house to look up at it, and. find out a little what 
it looks like.” 

They groped their way across the driveway, and 
on to the grass beyond. 

“We can see a good deal of it against the sky,” 
said Miriam. “What tall pillars ! It looks like a 
Greek temple in front. And from what I can make 
out, it’s pretty much all front.” 

“I suppose it is a regular old-fashioned house,” said 
her brother, “with a Grecian portico front, and per- 
haps another at the back. But you must come in 
now, for you have on neither hat nor wrap.” And 
he took her by the hand. 

“It isn’t cold,” said Miriam, “and oh, Ealph, look 
40 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

up at the stars. Those are our stars— every one of 
them.” 

Ralph laughed as he led her into the house. 

“Yes, indeed,” she insisted, “we own all the way 
down, and all the way up.” 

“Now, then,” said Miriam, when they had closed 
the door behind them, “how shall we explore the 
house? Shall we each take a lamp, or will candles 
be better? ” 

“Little girl!” exclaimed her brother, “I had no 
idea that you were such a bunch of watch-springs. 
It is nearly nine o’clock, and, after the day’s work 
that you have done, it is time you were in bed. 
House-exploring can be done to-morrow.” 

“Yes, indeed, miss,” said Phoebe, who stood by, 
anxious to shut up the house and retire to her own 
domicile, “and I will go up into your room with you 
and show you about things.” 

Half an hour after this, Miriam came out of her 
bedroom, holding a bit of lighted candle in her hand. 
She was dressed, with the exception of her shoes. 
Softly she advanced to the foot of the stairs which led 
to the floor above. 

“They are partly my stairs,” she said to herself, as 
she paused for a moment at the bottom of the step. 
“Ralph told me that he considered the place as 
much mine as his, and I have a right to go up. I 
cannot go to sleep without seeing what is up here. I 
never imagined such a third floor as this one.” 

In less than a minute, Miriam was slowly creeping 
along the next floor of the house, which was, indeed, 
an odd one, for it was nothing more than a gallery, 
broader at the ends than at the sides, with a railed open 
41 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


space through which one could look down to the floor 
below. Some of the doors were open, and she peeped 
into the rooms, but saw nothing which induced her 
to enter them. Having made the circuit of the gal- 
lery, she reached a narrow staircase which wound still 
higher upward. 

“I must go up,” she said. “I cannot help it.” 

Arrived at the top of these stairs, Miriam held up 
her candle and looked about her. She was in a great, 
wide, magnificent, glorious garret ! Her soul swelled. 
To own such a garret was almost too much joy ! It 
was the realization of a thousand dreams. 

Slowly advancing, she beheld fascinations on every 
side. Here were old trunks, doubtless filled with 
family antiquities. There was a door fastened with a 
chain and a padlock— there must be a key to that, or 
the lock could be broken. In the dim light at the 
other end of the garret, she could see what appeared 
to be a piled-up collection of boxes, chests, cases, lit- 
tle and big, and all sorts of old-fashioned articles of 
use and ornament, doubtless every one of them a 
treasure. A long musket, its stock upon the floor, 
reclined against a little trunk covered with horsehair, 
from under the lid of which protruded the ends of 
some dusty folded papers. 

“Oh, how I wish Kalph were here, and that we had 
a lamp ! I could spend the night here, looking at 
everything. But I can’t do it now, with this little 
candle-end.” 

At her feet was a wooden box, the lid of which was 
evidently unfastened, for it lay at an angle across the top. 

“I will look into this one box,” she said, “and then 
I will go down.” 


42 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


She knelt down, and, with the candle in her right 
hand, pushed aside the lid with her left. From the 
box there grinned at her a human skull, surrounded 
by its bones. 

She started back. 

“Uncle Butterwood ! n she gasped, and tried to rise, 
but her strength and senses left her, and she fell over 
unconscious upon the floor. The candle dropped 
from her hand, and, fortunately, went out. 


43 


CHAPTER Y 

P ANNE Y OP ATH Y 

About ten o’clock the next morning, Mike, in his lit- 
tle wagon, rattled np to the door of Dr. Tolbridge. 

The doctor was not at home, but his wife came out. 

“That young girl ! ” she exclaimed. “Why, what 
can be the matter with her? ” 

“I dunno, ma’am,” answered Mike. “Phoebe told 
me just as the wagon got there with the boxes and 
trunks, and nobody but me to help the man up-stairs 
with ’em, and said I must get away to the doctor’s jes 
as fast as I could drive. She said somethin’ about her 
sleepin’ in the garret and ketchin’ cold, but she 
wouldn’t let me stop to ax no questions. She said the 
doctor was wanted straight off.” 

“I am very sorry,” said Mrs. Tolbridge, “that he is 
not here, but he said he was going to stop and see 
Miss Panney. I can’t tell you any other place to 
which he was going. If you drive back by the Wit- 
ton road, you may find him, or, if he has not yet ar- 
rived, it might be well to wait for him.” 

Arrived at the Witton house, Mike saw Miss Pan- 
ney, wrapped in a heavy shawl and wearing a hood, 
taking her morning exercise on the piazza. 

44 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“They want the doctor already ! ” she exclaimed, 
in answer to Mike’s inquiries. “Who could have 
thought that? And he left here nearly half an hour 
ago. His wife will send him when he gets home, but 
there is no knowing when that will be. However, 
she must have somebody to attend to her. Mike, I 
will go myself. I will go with you in your wagon. 
Wait one minute.” 

Into the house popped Miss Panney, and in a very 
short time returned, carrying with her an umbrella, 
and a large reticule made of brown plush and 
adorned with her monogram in yellow. One of the 
Witton girls came with her, and assisted her to the 
seat by the side of Mike. 

“How, then,” said she, “get along as fast as you can. 
I shall not mind the jolts.” 

“Phoebe,” said Miss Panney, as she entered the Cob- 
hurst door, “it’s a long time since I have seen you, 
and I have not been in this house for eight years. I 
hope you will be able to tell me something about this 
sudden sickness, for Mike is as stupid as a stone post, 
and knows nothing at all.” 

“How, Miss Panney,” said Phoebe, speaking very 
earnestly, but in a low voice, “I can’t say that I can 
really give you the true head and tail of it, for it’s 
mighty hard to find out what did happen to that 
young gal. All I know is that she didn’t come down 
to breakfast, and that Mr. Haverley went up to her 
room hisself, and he knocked and he knocked, and 
then he pushed the door open and went in, and, bless 
my soul, Miss Panney, she wasn’t there ! Then he 
hollered, and me and him we s’arched and s’arched 
the house. He went up into the garret by hisself, for 
45 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


yon may be sure I wouldn’t go there. But he was just 
wild, and didn’t care where he went, and there he 
found her dead asleep on the floor, and a livin’ skele- 
ton a-sittin’ watchin’ her.” 

“Nonsense ! ” exclaimed Miss Panney. “He never 
told you that.” 

“That’s the p’int of what I got out of him, and you 
know, Miss Panney, that that garret’s hanted.” 

Miss Panney wasted no words in attempting to dis- 
prove this assertion. 

“He found her asleep on the floor?” said she. 

“Yes, Miss Panney,” answered Phoebe, “dead asleep 
—or more likely, to my mind, in a dead faint— among 
all the drafts and chills of that garret, and in her 
stockin’ -feet. She had tuk up a candle with her, but 
I ’spect the skeleton blowed it out. And now she’s 
got an awful cold, so she can scarcely breathe, and a 
fever hot enough to roast an egg.” 

At this moment Ralph appeared in the hall. The 
visitor immediately went up to him. 

“Mr. Haverley, I suppose. I am Miss Panney. I 
am a neighbor, and I came to see if I could do any- 
thing for your sister before the doctor arrives. I am 
a good nurse, and know all about sicknesses.” And she 
explained why she had come and the doctor had not. 

When Miriam turned her head and saw the black 
eyes of Miss Panney gazing down upon her, she pushed 
herself back in the bed, and exclaimed : 

“Are you his wife? ” 

“No, indeed,” said Miss Panney. “I wouldn’t marry 
him for a thousand pounds. I am your nurse. I am 
going to give you something nice to make you feel 
better. Put your hand in mine. There, that will do. 

46 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Keep yourself covered up, even if you are a little 
warm, and I will come back presently with the nicest 
kind of a cup of tea.” 

“It’s a cold and a fever,” she said to Ralph, outside 
the chamber door,— “the commonest thing in the 
world. But I’ll make her a hot drink that will do 
her more good than anything else that could be given 
her, and when the doctor comes he’ll tell you so. He 
knows me, and what I can do for sick people. I 
brought everything that’s needed in my bag, and I 
am going down to the kitchen myself. But how in 
the world did she come to stay on the garret floor all 
night? She couldn’t have been in a swoon all that 
time.” 

“Ho,” answered Ralph. “She told me she came to 
her senses, she didn’t know when, but that everything 
was pitch-dark about her, and feeling dreadfully tired 
and weak, she put her head down on her arm, and 
tried to think why she was lying on such a hard floor, 
and then she must have dropped into the heavy sleep 
in which I found her. She was tired out with her 
journey and the excitement. Do you think she is in 
danger, Miss Panney ? ” 

“Don’t believe it,” said the old lady. “She looks 
strong, and these young things get well before you 
know it.” 

“How, my young lady,” said Miss Panney, as she 
stood by Miriam’s bedside with a steaming bowl, 
“you may drink the whole of this, but you mustn’t 
ask me for any more, and then you may go to sleep, 
and to-morrow morning you can get up and skip 
around and see what sort of a place Cobhurst is by 
daylight.” 


47 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“I can’t wait until to-morrow for that/’ said Miriam, 
“and is that tea or medicine 1 ?” 

“It’s both, my dear. Sit up and drink it off.” 

Miriam still eyed the bowl. “Is it homoeopathic or 
allopathic ? ” she asked. 

“Neither the one nor the other,” was the discreet 
reply. “It is Panneyopathic, and just the thing for 
a girl who wants to get out of bed as soon as she 
can.” 

Miriam looked full into the bright black eyes, and 
then took the bowl and drank every drop of the con- 
tents. 

“Thank you,” she said. “It is perfectly horrid, but 
I must get up.” 

“Now you take a good long nap, and then I hope 
you will feel quite able to go down and begin to keep 
house for your brother.” 

“The first thing to do,” said Miriam, as Miss Panney 
carefully adjusted the bedclothes about her shoulders, 
“is to see what sort of a house we have got, and then 
I will know how I am to keep it.” 

When her young patient had dropped asleep, Miss 
Panney went down-stairs. In the lower hall she found 
Ralph walking up and down. 

“There is no earthly need of your worrying yourself 
about your sister. I am sure the doctor would say 
she is in no danger at all,” said the old lady. “And 
now, if you don’t mind, I would like very much to 
go up into the garret and see what frightened your 
sister.” 

“It was apparently a box of human bones,” he said, 
“but I barely glanced at it. You are perfectly wel- 
come to go up and examine.” 

48 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


It was a quarter of an hour before Miss Panney 
came down from the garret, laughing. 

“I studied anatomy on those bones,” she said. 
“ Every one of them is marked in ink with its name. 
I had forgotten all about them. Matthias’s brother 
Reuben was a scientific man, and he used the skeleton. 
That is, he studied all sorts of things, though he never 
did anything worth notice. I took a look round the 
garret,” she continued, “and I tell you, sir, that if 
you care anything for family relics and records, you 
have them to your heart’s content. I expect there 
are things up there that have not been touched for 
fifty years.” 

“I should suppose,” said Ralph, “that the servants 
of the house would have had some curiosity about 
such objects, if no one else had.” 

Miss Panney laughed. 

“There hasn’t been a servant in that garret for 
many a long year,” said she. “You evidently don’t 
know that this house is considered haunted, particu- 
larly the garret, and I suppose that box of bones had 
a good deal to do with the notion.” 

“Well,” said Ralph, “no doubt the ghosts have 
been a great protection to our family treasures.” 

“And to your whole house,” said the old lady. 
“Watch-dogs would be nothing to them.” 

Miss Panney and Ralph ate dinner together. The 
old lady would not leave until the doctor had come,— 
and the conversation was an education to young Hav- 
erley in regard to the Butterwood family and the 
Thorbury neighborhood. At the conclusion of the 
meal, Phoebe came into the room. 

“I went up-stairs to see how she was gettin’ on, sir,” 
49 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


she said, “and she was awake, and she made me get a 
pencil and paper out of her bag, and she sent you this 
note.” 

On a half-sheet of note-paper he read the following : 

“Dear Ralph: I went up-stairs and looked at the 
third floor and a good deal of the garret without you 
being with me. I really want to be perfectly fair, and 
so you must not stop altogether from looking at things 
until I am able to go with you. I think good things to 
look at by yourself would be stables and barn-yards, 
and the lower part of barns. Please do not go into hay- 
lofts, nor into the chicken-yard, if there is one. You 
might keep your eyes on the ground until you get to these 
places and then look up. If there are horses and cows, 
don’t tell me anything about them when you see me. 
Don’t tell me anything. I think I shall be well to- 
morrow, perhaps to-night. Miriam.” 

Ralph laughed heartily, and read the note aloud. 

“I should say,” said Miss Panney, “that that girl 
has a good deal more conscience than fever. She 
ought to have slept longer, but as she is awake, I will 
go up and take a look at her, while you can blindfold 
yourself, if you like, and go out to the barns.” 

The doctor did not arrive until late in the afternoon, 
and it was nearly half an hour after he had gone np 
to his patient before he reported to Ralph. 

“"She is all right,” said he, “but I am not.” 

The young man looked puzzled. 

“By which I mean,” continued the other, “that 
Miss Panney’s concoction and the girl’s vigorous 
young nature have thrown off the effects of her nap 
in the haunted garret, and that I am an allopathist, 
whereas I ought to be a homoeopathist. The young 
50 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


lady and I have had a long conversation on that sub- 
ject and others. I find that she is a nonconformist.” 

“What?” asked Ralph. 

“I use the word in its political and social as well 
as its religious meaning. That is a sister worth tak- 
ing care of, sir. Lock her up in her room if she in- 
clines to any more midnight wanderings.” 

“And now, having finished with the young patient,” 
said Miss Panney, who was waiting with her bonnet 
and shawl on, “you can take up an old one, and I will 
get you to drive me home on your way back to 
Thorbury.” 

The doctor had been very much interested in 
Miriam, and talked about her to Miss Panney as he 
drove her to the Witton house, which, by the way, 
was a mile and a half out of his direct road. The old 
lady listened with interest, but did not wish to listen 
very much. She wished to talk of Ralph. 

“I like him,” she said. “He has pluck. I have 
had a good deal of talk with him, and he told me 
frankly that he could not afford to put money into 
the place and farm it as it ought to be farmed. But 
he was born a countryman, and he has the heart of a 
countryman, and he is going to see if he can make a 
living out of it for himself and his sister.” 

“Which may result,” said the doctor, “in his be- 
coming a mere farm laborer and putting an end to his 
sister’s education.” 

“Nonsense ! ” exclaimed the old lady. “Young fel- 
lows— college men— go out on ranches in the West 
and do that sort of thing, and it lowers them in no- 
body’s estimation. Let young Haverley call his farm 
a ranch and rough it. It would be the same thing. 

51 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


I’ve backed liim up strongly. It’s a manly choice of 
a manly life. As for his sister, she has been so long 
at school that it will do her more good to stop than 
to go on.” 

“It will be hard scratching,” said the doctor, “to 
get a living out of Cobhurst, and I hope these young 
people will not come to grief while they are making 
the experiment.” 

Miss Panney smiled without looking at her com- 
panion. 

“Don’t be afraid of that,” she said presently. “I 
have pretty good reason to think that he will get on 
well enough.” 

That evening Miriam sat up in bed with a shawl 
about her shoulders and discoursed to her brother. 

“Now, Ralph,” said she, “you must have seen a lot 
of things about our place, because, when I came to 
think of it, it was plain enough that you couldn’t help 
it. I am crazy to see what you saw, but you mustn’t 
tell me anything except what I ask you. Please be 
particular about that.” 

“Go on,” said Ralph. “You shall not have a word 
more or less than you want.” 

“Well, then, is your bed comfortable?” 

“Perfectly,” he answered. 

“And have you pillows enough?” 

“More than I want,” said Ralph. 

“And are the doors and windows all fastened and 
locked down-stairs?” 

He laughed. “You needn’t bother yourself about 
that sort of thing. I will attend to the locking up.” 

She slightly knitted her brows in reflection. “Now, 
then, Ralph,” said she, “I am coming to it, and mind, 
52 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


not a word more than I ask for. Have we any 
horses ? ” 

“We have,” he replied. 

“How many?” 

“Four.” 

Miriam clasped her hands and looked at her brother 
with sparkling eyes. 

“Oh ! ” she exclaimed, “four horses ! ” 

“Two of them — ” he began, but she stopped him in 
an instant. 

“Don’t tell me another thing,” she cried. “I don’t 
want to know what color they are, or anything about 
them. To-morrow I shall see them for myself. Oh, 
Ralph, isn’t it perfectly wonderful that we should 
have four horses? I can’t stand anything more just 
now, so please kiss me good night.” 

About an hour afterwards Ralph was awakened by 
a knock at his door. 

“Who is there?” he cried. 

The door opened a very little way. 

“Ralph,” said Miriam, through the crack, “is there 
one of our horses which can be ridden by a lady ? ” 

Ralph’s first impulse was to throw a pillow at the 
door, but he remembered that sisters were different 
from fellows at school. 

“Can’t say anything about that until we try,” said 
he. “And now, Miriam, please go to bed and to 
sleep.” 

Miriam shut the door and went away, but in her 
dreams she rode a prancing charger into Miss Stone’s 
school-yard, and afterwards drove all the girls in a 
tally-ho. 


53 


CHAPTEB VI 

MRS. TOLBRIDGE’S CALLERS 

The next day was a very fine one, and as the roads 
were now good, and the air mild, Miss Panney thought 
it was quite time that she should begin to go about 
and see her friends without depending on the vehicles 
of other people, so she ordered her little phaeton and 
her old roan mare, and drove herself to Thorbury to 
see Mrs. Tolbridge. 

“The doctor tells me,” said that good lady, “that 
you take great interest in those young people at Cob- 
hurst.” 

“Indeed, I do,” said Miss Panney, sitting up as 
straight in her easy-chair as if it had been a wooden 
bench with no back. “I have been thinking about 
him all the morning. He ought to be married.” 

Mrs. Tolbridge laughed. 

“Dear me, Miss Panney,” said she, “it is too soon 
to begin thinking of a wife for the poor fellow. He 
has not had time to feel himself at home.” 

“My motto is that it is never too soon to begin, but 
we won’t talk about that. Kitty, you are the worst 
match-maker I ever saw.” 


54 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“I think I made a pretty good match for myself,” 
said the other. 

“No, you didn’t. The doctor made that, and I 
helped. You had nothing to do with the preliminary 
work, which is really the most important.” 

Mrs. Tolbridge smiled. “I am sure I am very much 
obliged,” she said. 

“You ought to be. And now, while we are on the 
subject, let me ask you : Have you a new cook 1 ? ” 

“I have,” replied the other, “but she is worse than 
the last one.” 

Miss Panney rose to her feet, and walked across the 
room. 

“Kitty Tolbridge ! ” she exclaimed, “this is too bad. 
You’re trifling with the greatest treasure a woman 
can have on this earth— the life of a good husband.” 

“But what am I to do 1 ?” asked Mrs. Tolbridge. 
“I have tried everywhere, and I can get no one 
better.” 

“Everywhere,” repeated Miss Panney. “ Y ou mean 
everywhere in Thorbury. You oughtn’t to expect to 
get a decent cook in this little town. You should go 
to the city and get one. What you want is to keep 
the doctor well, no matter what it costs. He doesn’t 
look well, and I don’t see how he can be well on the 
kind of cooking you can get in Thorbury.” 

Mrs. Tolbridge flushed a little. 

“I am sure,” she said, “that Thorbury people, for 
generations and generations, have lived on Thorbury 
cooking, and they have been just as healthy as any 
other people.” 

“Ah, Kitty, Kitty ! ” exclaimed the old lady, “you 
forget how things have changed. In times gone by 
55 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


the ladies of the household superintended all the 
cooking, and did a good deal of it besides, and they 
brought something into the kitchen that seldom gets 
into it now, and that is brains. A cook with a com- 
plete set of brains might be pretty hard to get, and 
would cost a good deal of money. But it is your duty, 
Kitty, to get as good a one as you can. If she has 
only a teacupful of brains, it will be better than 
none at all. Don’t mind the cost. If you have to do 
it, spend more on cooking, and less on raw material.” 

This was all Miss Panney had to say on the subject, 
and shortly she departed. 

After brief stops at the post-office and one or two 
shops, she drove to the abode of the Bannisters. Miss 
Panney tied her roan to the hitching-post by the side- 
walk, and went up the smooth gravel path to the 
handsome old house, which she had so often visited, 
to confer on her own affairs and those of the world at 
large with the father and the grandfather of the pres- 
ent Bannister, attorney-at-law. 

She and the house were all that were left of those 
old days. Even the widow was the second wife, who 
had come into the family while Miss Panney was away 
from Thorbury. 

Mrs. Bannister was not at home, but Miss Dora was, 
and that entirely satisfied the visitor. When the 
blooming daughter of the house came hurrying into 
the parlor, Miss Panney, who had previously raised 
two of the window-shades, gazed at her earnestly as 
she saluted her, and nodded her head approvingly. 
Then the two sat down to talk. 

They talked of several things, and very soon of the 
Cobhurst people. 


56 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“Oh, have you seen them?” exclaimed Dora. “I 
have, but only for a minute, at the station, and then I 
didn’t know who they were, though I was told after- 
wards. They seemed to be very nice.” 

“They are,” said Miss Panney. “The girl is bright, 
and young Mr. Haverley is an exceedingly agreeable 
gentleman, just the sort of man who should be the 
owner of Cobhurst. He is handsome, well educated, 
and spirited. I saw a good deal of him, for I spent 
the best part of yesterday there. I should say that 
your brother would find him a most congenial neigh- 
bor. There are so few young men hereabout who 
are worth anything.” 

“That is true,” replied Dora, with a degree of 
earnestness, “and I know Herbert will be delighted. 
I am sure he would call if he were here, but he is 
away, and doesn’t expect to be back for a week.” 

It crossed Miss Panney’s mind that a week’s delay 
in a matter of this sort would not be considered a 
breach of courtesy, but she did not say so. 

“It would be friendly if Mrs. Bannister and you 
were to call on the sister, before long,” she remarked. 

“Of course we will do it,” said Dora, with anima- 
tion. “I should think a young lady would be dread- 
fully lonely in that great house, at least at first, and 
perhaps we can do something for her.” 

Although Miss Panney had seen Miriam only in 
bed, she had a strong conviction that she was not yet 
a young lady, but this, like the other reflection, was 
not put into words. 

It was not noon when Miss Panney left the Ban- 
nister house, and the mind of Miss Dora, which had 
been renewing itself within her with all the vigor and 

57 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

freshness which Dr. Tolbridge had predicted, was at 
a loss how to occupy itself until dinner-time, which 
with the Bannisters and most of the gentlefolk of 
Thorbury was at two o’clock. 

Dora put on her prettiest hat and her wrap, and 
went out. She wanted to call on somebody and to 
talk, and suddenly it struck her that she would go 
and inquire about the kitten she had given Dr. Tol- 
bridge, and carry it a fresh ribbon. She bought the 
ribbon, and found Mrs. Tolbridge and the kitten at 
home. 

When the ornament had been properly adjusted, 
Miss Dora put the kitten upon the floor and remarked : 
“Now, there is some comfort in doing a thing like that 
for Dr. Tolbridge, because he will be sure to notice it. 
There are some gentlemen who hardly ever notice 
things you do for them. Herbert is often that way.” 

“Yes, my dear,” said Mrs. Tolbridge, who had 
turned toward a desk at which she had been writing. 
“The doctor is a man I can recommend, and I hope 
you may get a husband as good as he is. And, by the 
way, if you ever do get such a one, I also hope you 
will be able to find some one who will cook his meals 
properly. I find that I cannot do that in Thorbury, 
and I am going to try to get a cook in the city. I am 
now writing an advertisement which I shall put into 
several of the papers, and day after to-morrow I shall 
go down to see the people who answer.” 

“Oh, that will be fun ! ” cried Dora. “I wish I could 
go with you.” 

“And why not?” 

“Why not, indeed?” replied the young lady, and 
the matter was immediately arranged. 

58 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“And while we are talking about servants/’ said 
Dora, whose ebullient mind now found a chance to 
bring in the subject which was most prominent within 
it, “I should think that the new people at Cobhurst 
would find it troublesome to get the right sort of 
service.” 

“Perhaps so,” replied Mrs. Tolbridge, “although I 
have a fancy they are going to have a very indepen- 
dent household— at least, for a time. It is a great pity 
that the young girl was taken sick just as she entered 
into her new home.” 

“Sick ! ” exclaimed Dora. “I never heard of that.” 

“Oh, it wasn’t anything serious,” said the other, 
her thoughts turning to the advertisement, which she 
wished to get into the post-office before dinner, “and 
I have no doubt she is quite well now, but still it was 
a pity.” 

“Indeed, it was ! ” exclaimed Dora, in tones of the 
most earnest sympathy and commiseration. “It was 
the greatest kind of a pity, and I think I really ought 
to call on her very soon.” And in this mood she went 
home to dinner. 


59 


CHAPTER YII 

DORA BANNISTER TAKES TIME AND A MARE 
BY THE FORELOCK 

Very early that afternoon Miss Dora Bannister was 
driven to Cobhurst to call upon the young lady who 
had been taken sick, and who ought not to be neg- 
lected by the ladies of Thorbury. Dora had asked 
her stepmother to accompany her, but as that good 
lady seldom made calls, and disliked long drives, and 
could not see why it was at all necessary for her to 
go, Dora went alone. 

When the open carriage with its pair of handsome 
grays had bumped over the rough entrance to the 
Cobhurst estate, and had drawn up to the front of the 
house, Miss Dora skipped lightly out, and rang the 
door-bell. She rang twice, and as no one came, and 
the front door was wide open, she stepped inside 
to see if she could find any one. She had never been 
in that great wide hall before, and she was delighted 
with it, although it appeared to be in some disorder. 
Two boxes and a trunk were still standing where they 
had been placed when they were brought from the 
station. She looked through the open door of the 
60 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


parlor, but there was no one there, and then she 
knocked on the door of a closed room. 

No answer came, and she went to the back door of 
the long hall and looked out, but not a soul could she 
see. This was discouraging, but she was not a girl 
who would willingly turn back, after having set out 
on an errand of mercy. There was a door which 
seemed to lead to the basement, and on this she 
knocked, but to no purpose. 

“This is an awfully funny house,” she said to her- 
self. “If I could see any stairs, I might go up a little 
way and call. Surely there must be somebody alive 
somewhere.” 

Then the thought suddenly came into her mind that 
perhaps want of life in the particular person she had 
come to see might be the reason of this dreadful still- 
ness and desertion, and without a moment’s hesitation 
she stepped out of the back door into the open air. 
She could not stay in that house another second until 
she knew. Surely there must be some one on the place 
who could tell her what had happened. 

Approaching the gardener’s house, she met Phoebe 
just coming out of the door. 

“Bless my soul ! ” exclaimed the woman of color. 
“Is that you, Miss Dora? Mike hollered to me that 
a kerridge had come, and I was a-hurryin’ up to the 
house to see who it was.” 

“I came to call on Miss Haverley,” said Dora. 
“How is she, Phoebe, and can I see her ? ” 

“Oh, she’s well enough, and you can see her if you 
can find her. But to save my soul, Miss Dora, I 
couldn’t tell you where she is at this minute. You 
never did in all your life see anybody like that Miss 
61 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Miriam is. Why, true as I speak, the very sparrers 
in the trees isn’t as wild as she is. From sunrise this 
morning she has been on the steady go. You’d think, 
to see her, that the hens and the cows and the colts 
and even the old apple-trees was all silver and gold 
and diamonds in her eyes, she takes on so about ’em. 
I can’t keep up with her, I can’t. The last time I see 
her, she was goin’ into the barn, and I reckon she’s 
thar yit, huntin’ hens’ nests. If you like, I’ll go look 
for her, Miss Dora.” 

Phoebe had often worked for the Bannister family, 
and Dora knew her to be one of the slowest movers 
among mankind. Besides, the idea of calling upon a 
young lady who was engaged in looking for hens’ nests 
in a barn was an exceedingly attractive one. It had 
not been long since Dora had taken much delight in 
that sort of thing herself. 

“You needn’t trouble yourself, Phoebe,” she said. 
“I will walk over to the barn. I would a great deal 
rather do that than wait in the house. If I don’t see 
her there, I will come back and leave our cards.” 

“You might as well do that,” said Phoebe, laughing, 
“for, if she isn’t thar, she’s as like as not at the other 
end of the farm in the field where the colts is.” 

The Cobhurst barn was an unusual and, indeed, a 
remarkable structure. It was not as old as the house, 
although it had been built many years ago by Mat- 
thias Butterwood, in a fashion to suit his own ideas 
of what a barn should be. 

It was an enormous structure, a great deal larger 
than the house, and built of stone. It stood against a 
high bluff, and there was an entrance on the level to 
the vast lower story, planned to accommodate Mr. 

62 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Butterwood’s herd of fine cattle. A little higher up, 
a wide causeway, supported by an arch, led into the 
second story, devoted to horses and all kinds of vehi- 
cles, and still higher, almost on a level with the house, 
there was a road, walled on each side, by which the 
loaded hay-wagons could be driven in upon the great 
third floor of the barn. 

When Dora Bannister reached this barn, having 
followed a path which led to the lower story, she 
looked in at an open door, and received the impres- 
sion of vast extent, emptiness, and the scent of hay. 
She entered, looking about from side to side. At the 
opposite end of the great room was an open door 
through which the sun shone, and as she approached 
it she heard a voice and the cracking of corn-stalks 
outside. 

Standing in the doorway, she looked out, and saw 
a large barn-yard, the ground near the door covered 
with fresh straw which seemed to have been recently 
strewn there. The yard beyond was a neglected and 
bad-looking expanse, into which no young lady would 
be likely to penetrate, and from which Dora would 
have turned away instantly, had she not seen crossing 
it a young man and a horse. 

The young man was leading the horse by its fore- 
lock, and was walking in a sidewise fashion, with his 
back toward Dora. The horse, a rough-looking crea- 
ture, seemed reluctant to approach the barn, and 
its leader frequently spoke to it encouragingly, and 
patted its neck, as he moved on. 

This young man was tall and broad-shouldered. 
He wore a light soft hat, which well suited his some- 
what curling brown hair. A corduroy suit and high 
63 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


top-boots, in which he strode fearlessly through the 
debris and dirt of the yard, gave him, in Dora’s eyes, 
a manly air, and she longed for him to turn his face 
toward her, that she might speak to him and ask him 
where she would be apt to find his sister— for, of course, 
this must be Mr. Haverley. 

But he did not turn. Instead of that, he now backed 
himself toward the stable door, pulling the horse after 
him. Dora was pleased to stand and look at him. 
His movements struck her as athletic and graceful. 
He was now so near that she felt she ought to make 
her presence known. She stepped out upon the fresh 
straw, intending to move a little out of his way and 
then accost him. But he spoke first. 

“Good,” he said. “Don’t you want to take hold of 
this mare by the forelock, as I am doing, and keep 
her here until I get a halter? ” And as he spoke he 
turned toward Miss Bannister. 

His face was a handsome one, fully equal in quality 
to his height, his shoulders, and his grace of move- 
ment. His blue eyes opened wide at the sight of the 
young lady in gray hat and ostrich-plumes, fashiona- 
ble driving costume edged with fur, for the spring air 
was yet cool, and bright silk parasol, for the spring 
sun was beginning to be warm. With almost a 
stammer, he said : 

“I beg your pardon ! I thought it was my sister I 
heard behind me.” 

“Oh, it doesn’t matter in the least,” said Dora, with 
a charming smile. “I am Miss Bannister. I live in 
Thorbury, and I came to call on your sister. Phoebe 
told me she thought she was out here, and so I came 
to look for her myself. A barn is so charming to me, 
64 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


especially a great one like this, that I would rather 
make a call in it than in the house.” 

“I will go and look for her,” said Ralph. “She 
cannot he far away.” And then he glanced at the 
horse, as if he were in doubt what to do with it at 
this juncture. 

“Oh, let me hold your horse,” cried Dora, putting 
down the parasol by the side of the barn and ap- 
proaching,— “I mean while you go and get its halter. 
I am ever so fond of horses, and like to hold them and 
feed them and pet them. Is this one gentle? ” 

“I don’t know much about her,” said Ralph, laugh- 
ing, “for we have just taken possession of the place, 
and are only beginning to find out what animals we 
own, and what they are like. This old mare seems 
gentle enough, though rather obstinate. I have just 
brought her in out of the fields, where she has been 
grazing ever since the season opened.” 

“She looks like a very good horse, indeed,” said 
Dora, patting the tangled hair on the creature’s neck. 

“I brought her in,” said Ralph, “thinking I might 
rub her down and get her into proper trim for use. 
My sister is much disappointed to find that out of our 
four horses, two are unbroken colts, and one is in 
constant use by the man. I think if I can give her a 
drive, even if it is behind a jogging old mare, it will 
set up her spirits again.” 

“You must let me hold her,” said Dora, “while you 
get the halter, and then you can tie her while we go 
and look for your sister. Don’t think of such a thing 
as letting her go, after all your trouble in catching 
her.” 

“If I could get her into these stables,” said Ralph, 
65 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“I might shut her in, but I don’t think that I shall 
be able to pull her through that doorway in this 
fashion.” 

Without further ado, Miss Dora put out her right 
hand, in its neatly fitting kid glove, and took hold of 
the mare’s forelock, just above Ralph’s hand. The 
young man demurred an instant, and then, laughing, 
ran into the stable to find a halter. His ownership 
of everything was so fresh that he forgot that the 
lower part of the barn was occupied by the cow 
stables— which the old mare did not wish to enter, or 
even approach. He hurriedly rummaged here and 
there among the stalls, finding nothing but some chains 
and rope’s-ends fastened to the mangers, but in his 
hasty search he could not help thinking how ex- 
tremely ingenuous and neighborly was that handsome 
girl outside. 

Dora held firmly the forelock of the mare, and 
patted the good animal’s head with the other hand. 
But, strange to say, the animal did not like being 
held by the young lady, and gradually she backed, 
first toward the side of the barn, and then out toward 
the open yard. Dora attempted to restrain her, but, 
in spite of all her efforts, was obliged to follow the 
retrogressive animal. 

“It’s my gloves she doesn’t like,” she said to herself. 
“I know some horses can’t bear the smell of kid. But 
I can’t take them off now, and I will not let go. I 
wish he would hurry with the halter.” 

Little by little poor Dora was pulled forward, until 
she reached a spot which was at the very end of the 
clean straw, and yet not very far from the wall of the 
barn. Here she vigorously endeavored to make a 
66 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


stand, for if she went another step forward her dainty 
boots would sink into mud and dirt. “Whoa!” she 
called out to the mare. “Whoa, now ! ” 

At the sound of these words, plainly uttered in 
trouble, Ralph, who happened to be in a stall next 
to the barn wall, looking over some ropes, glanced 
through a little window about four feet from the 
ground, and saw Miss Bannister very close to him, 
tottering on the edge of the straw, and just about to 
let go of the mare or step into the mire. Before he 
could shape words to tell her to release her dangerous 
hold, or make up his mind to rush around to the door 
to go to her assistance, she saw him, and throwing out 
her left hand in his direction, she exclaimed : 

“Oh, hold me, please.” 

Instantly Ralph put out his long arm, and caught 
her by the hand. 

“Thank you,” said Miss Dora. “In another mo- 
ment she would have pulled me into the dirt. Per- 
haps now I can make her walk up on the clean straw. 
Come, come,” she continued persuasively to the mare, 
which, however, obstinately declined to advance. 

“Let go of her, I beg of you, Miss Bannister,” cried 
Ralph. “It will hurt you to be pulled on two sides 
in this way.” 

Dora was a strong young girl, and so far the pulling 
had not hurt her at all. If fact, she liked it — at least, 
on one side. 

“Oh, I couldn't think of letting her go,” she replied, 
“after all the trouble you have had in catching her. 
The gate is open, and in a minute she would be out 
in the field again. If she will only make a few steps 
forward, I am sure I can hold her until you come out. 

67 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


If you would draw me in a little bit, Mr. Haverley, 
perhaps she would follow.” 

Ralph did not in the least object to hold the 
smoothly gloved little hand in his own, but he was 
really afraid that the girl would be hurt if she per- 
sisted in this attempt to make a halter of herself. If 
he released his hold, he was sure she would be jerked 
face forward into the mire, or, at least, be obliged to 
step into it, and as for the mare, it was plain to be 
seen that she did not intend to come any nearer the 
shed. He, therefore, doubled his entreaties that she 
would let the beast go, as it made no difference 
whether she ran into the fields or not. He could 
easily catch her again, or the man could. 

“I don’t want to let her go,” said Dora. “Your 
sister would have a pretty opinion of me when she is 
ready to take her drive, and finds that I have let her 
horse run away. And, besides, I don’t like to give 
up things. Do you like to give up things f I am sure 
you don’t, for I saw you bringing this horse into the 
yard, and you were very determined about it. If I 
let her go, all your determination and trouble will 
have been for nothing. I should not like that. 
Come, come, you obstinate creature ! just two steps 
forward. I have some lumps of sugar in my pocket 
which I keep to give to our horses, but, of course, I 
can’t get them with both my hands occupied. I wish I 
had thought of the sugar. By the way, the sugar is not 
in my pocket, after all ; it is in this little bag on my 
belt. I don’t suppose you could reach it.” 

Ralph stretched out his other hand, but he could 
not reach the little leather bag with its silver clasp. 
If he could have jumped out of the window, he would 
68 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


have done so without hesitation, but the aperture 
was not large enough. He could not help being 
amused by the dilemma in which he was placed by 
this young lady’s inflexibility. He did not know a 
girl, his sister not excepted, whom, under the cir- 
cumstances, he would not have left to the conse- 
quences of what he would have called her obstinacy. 
But there was something about Dora— some sort of a 
lump of sugar— which prevented him from letting go 
of her hand. 

“I never saw a horse,” said she, “nor, indeed, any 
sort of a living thing, which was so unwilling to come 
to me. You are very good to hold me so strongly, 
and I am sure I don’t mind waiting a little longer, 
until some one comes by.” 

“There is no one to come by,” exclaimed Ralph, 
“and I most earnestly beg of you—” 

At this moment the horse began to back. Miss 
Dora’s fingers nervously clasped themselves about 
Ralph’s hand, which pressed hers more closely and 
vigorously than before. There was a strong pull, a 
little jerk, and the forelock of the mare slipped out 
of Miss Dora’s hand. 

“There ! ” she cried. “That is exactly what I knew 
would happen. The wicked creature has galloped 
out of the gate ! ” 

The young lady now made a step or two nearer the 
barn, Ralph still holding her hand, as if to assist her 
to a better footing. 

She did not need the assistance at all, but she looked 
up gratefully as Ralph loosened his grasp and she 
gently withdrew her hand. 

“Thank you ever so much,” she said. “If it had 

69 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


not been for you, I do not know where I should have 
been pulled to. But it is too bad that the horse got 
off, after all.’ 7 

“Don’t mention it,” said Balph. “I’ll have her 
again in no time.” And then he ran outside to join 
her. 

“Now, sir,” said she, giving him no time to make 
any proposition, “I should like very much to find 
your sister, and see her for at least a few moments 
before I go. Do you think she is anywhere in this 
glorious old barn? Phoebe told me she was.” 

“Is this a girl or a woman?” thought Balph 
to himself. The charming and fashionable costume 
would have settled this question in the mind of a 
lady, but Balph felt a little puzzled. But be the case 
what it might, it would be charming to go with her 
through the barn or anywhere else. As they walked 
over the lower floor of the edifice toward the stairway 
in the corner, Dora remarked : 

“How happy your cows ought to be, Mr. Haverley, 
to have such a wide, cool place as this to live in ! 
What kind of cows have you ? ” 

“Indeed, I don’t know,” said Balph, laughing. “I 
haven’t had time to make their acquaintance. I 
have seen them only from a distance. They are but 
a very small herd, and I am sure there are no fancy 
breeds among them.” 

“Do you know,” said Dora, as they went up the 
broad steps, sprinkled with straw and hay-seed, “that 
what are called common cows are often really better 
than Alderneys, or Ayrshires, and those sorts? And 
this is the second story ! How splendid and vast ! 
What do you have here ? ” 


70 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“On the right are the horse stables / 7 said Ralph, 
“and in those stalls there should be a row of prancing 
chargers and ambling steeds. And on the great empty 
floor which you see over here, there should be the 
carriages— the coupe, the family carriage, the light 
wagon, the pony phaeton, the top buggy, and all the 
other vehicles which people in the country need. But, 
alas ! you see only that old hay- wagon, which I am sure 
would fall to pieces if horses attempted to pull it, and 
that affair with two big wheels and a top. I think 
they call it a gig, and I believe old Mr. Butterwood 
used to drive about in it . 77 

“Indeed, he did , 77 said Dora. “I remember seeing 
him when I was a little girl. It must be very com- 
fortable. I should think your sister and you would 
enjoy driving in that. In a gig, you know, you can go 
anywhere— into wood roads and all sorts of places 
where you couldn’t turn around with anything with 
four wheels. And how nice it is that it has a top ! 
I 7 ve heard it said that Mr. Butterwood would always 
have everything comfortable for himself. Perhaps 
your sister is in some of these smaller rooms. What 
are they ? 77 

“Oh, harness-rooms and I know not what , 77 answered 
Ralph, and then he called out “Miriam ! 77 

His voice was of a full, rich tone, and it was echoed 
from the bare walls and floors. 

“If my sister is in the barn at all , 77 said Ralph, “I 
think she must be on the floor above this, for there 
is the hay, and the hens 7 nests, if there are any — 77 

“Oh, let us go up there , 77 said Dora. “That is just 
where we ought to find her . 77 

There was not the least affectation in Dora’s delight 

71 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


as she stood on the wide upper floor of the barn. Its 
great haymows rose on either side, not piled to the 
roof as before, but with enough hay left over from 
former years to fill the air with that delightful scent 
of mingled cleanliness and sweetness which belongs to 
hay lofts. At the back was a wide-open door with a 
bar across it, out of which she saw a far-stretching 
landscape, rich with varied colors of spring, and 
through a small side door at the other end of the 
floor, which there was level with the ground, came a 
hen, clucking to a brood of black-eyed, downy little 
chicks, which she was bringing in for the night to the 
spacious home she had chosen for them. 

Whether or not Dora would have enjoyed all this 
as much had she been alone is a point not necessary 
to settle, but she was a true country girl, and had 
loved chickens, barns, and hay from her babyhood up. 
She stepped quickly to the open door, and she and 
Ralph leaned upon the bar and looked out upon the 
beautiful scene. 

“How charming it will be, 7 ’ she said, “for your sis- 
ter to come here and sit with her reading or sewing. 
She can look out and see you almost wherever you 
happen to be on your farm.” 

“I don’t believe Miriam will be content to sit still 
and watch anybody,” replied Ralph. “I wonder 
where she can be.” And twice he called her, once 
directing his voice up toward the haymows, and once 
out into the open air. Dora still leaned on the bar 
and looked out. 

“It would be nice if we could see her walking 
somewhere in the fields,” she said, and she and Ralph 
both swept the landscape with their eyes, but they 
72 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

saw nothing like a moving girl in shade or sun- 
shine. 

Miss Bannister was not in the least embarrassed as 
she stood here with this young man whom she had 
met such a little time before. She did not altogether 
feel that she was alone with him. The thought that 
any moment the young man ? s sister might make one 
of the party produced a sensation not wholly unlike 
that of knowing she was already there. 

The view of the far- off hills, with the shadows across 
their sides and their forest-covered tops glistening in 
the sunshine, was very attractive, and there was a 
blossomy perfume in the outside air which mingled 
charmingly with the hay-scents from within. But 
Dora felt that it would not do to protract her pleasure 
in these things, especially as she noticed signs of 
a slight uneasiness on the face of her companion. 
Probably he wanted to go and look for his sister. So 
they walked slowly over the floor of the great hay-loft, 
and out of the little door where the hen and chickens 
had come in, and Ralph accompanied the young lady 
to her carriage. 

“ I am sure I shall find Thomas and the horses fast 
asleep,” said she, “for I have made a long call, or, at 
least, have tried to make one, and you must tell your 
sister that my stay proves how much I wanted to see 
her. I hope she will call on me the first time she 
comes to Thorbury.” 

“Oh, I shall drive her over on purpose,” said Ralph, 
and, with a smile, Miss Bannister declared that would 
be charming. 

When the carriage had rolled upon the smooth road 
outside of Cobhurst, Miss Dora drew off her left glove 
73 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


and looked at her wrist. “Dear me ! 99 said she to 
herself, “I thought he would have squeezed those 
buttons entirely through my skin, but I wouldn’t 
have said a word for anything. I wonder what sort 
of a girl his sister is. If she resembles him, I know I 
shall like her.” 


74 


CHAPTER VIII 


MRS. TOLBRIDGE’S REPORT IS NOT ACCEPTED 

A few days after Miss Bannister’s call at Cobhurst, it 
was returned by Ralph and Miriam, who drove to 
Thorbury with the brown mare and the gig. To 
their disappointment, they found that the young lady 
was not at home, and the communicative maid in- 
formed them that she had gone to the city to help 
Mrs. Tolbridge to get a new cook. 

They went home by the way of the Witton house, 
and there they found Miss Panney at home. The old 
lady was very much interested in Miriam, whom she 
had not before seen out of bed. She scrutinized the 
girl from hat to boots. 

“What do you want me to call you, my dear? ” she 
asked. “Don’t you honestly think you are too young 
to be called Miss Haverley ! ” 

“I think it would be very well if you were to call 
me Miriam,” said the other, who was of the opinion 
* that Miss Panney was old enough to call any woman 
by her Christian name. 

The conversation was maintained almost entirely 
by the old lady and Ralph, for Miriam was silent and 
very solemn. Once she broke in with a question. 

75 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

“What kind of a person is Miss Bannister?” she 
asked. 

Miss Panney gave a short laugh. 

“Oh, she is a charming person,” she answered. 
“ Pretty, good-humored, well educated, excellent taste 
in dress and almost everything, and very lively and 
pleasant to talk to. I am very fond of her.” 

“I am afraid,” said Miriam, “that she is too old and 
too fine for me.” And turning to a photograph al- 
bum, she began to study the family portraits. 

“Your sister’s ideas are rather girlish as yet,” said 
Miss Panney, “but housekeeping at Cobhurst will 
change all that.” And then she went on with her re- 
marks concerning the Haverley and Butterwood fam- 
ilies, a subject upon which Ralph was not nearly so 
well informed as she was. 

When the brother and sister had driven away, Miss 
Panney reflected that the visit had given her two 
pieces of information. One was that the Haverley 
girl was a good deal younger than she had thought 
her, and the other was that Mrs. Tolbridge was really 
trying to get a new cook. The first point she did not 
consider with satisfaction. 

“It is a pity,” she thought, “that Dora and his sis- 
ter are not likely to be friends. That would help 
wonderfully. This school-girl, probably jealous of the 
superiority of grown-up young ladies, may be very 
much in the way. I am sorry the case is not 
different.” 

In regard to the other point the old lady was very 
well satisfied, and determined to go soon to see what 
success Mrs. Tolbridge had had. 

About the middle of the next forenoon, Miss Panney 
76 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


tied her horse in front of the Tolbridge house and 
entered unceremoniously, as she was in the habit of 
doing. She found the doctor’s wife standing by the 
back-parlor window, looking out on the garden. 
When the old lady had seated herself she immediately 
proceeded to business. 

“Well, Kitty,” said she, “what sort of a time did 
you have yesterday ? ” 

“A very discouraging and disagreeable one,” said 
Mrs. Tolbridge. “I might just as well have stayed at 
home.” 

“You don’t mean to say,” asked Miss Panney, “that 
nobody answered your advertisement?” 

“When I reached the rooms of the Non-Resident 
Club, where the applicants were to call—” 

“That’s the first time,” interrupted Miss Panney, 
“that I ever heard that that club was of the slightest 
use.” 

“It wasn’t of any use this time,” said the other. 
“For although I found several women there who came 
before the hour appointed, and at least a dozen came 
in the course of the morning, not one of them would 
do at all. I was just now looking out at our aspara- 
gus-bed, and wondering if any of those beautiful heads 
would ever be cooked properly. The woman in our 
kitchen knows that she is to depart, and she is in a 
terribly bad temper, and this she puts into her cook- 
ing. The doctor is almost out of temper himself. 
He says that he has pretty good teeth, but that he 
cannot bite spite.” 

Miss Panney now appeared to be getting out of 
temper. 

“I must say, Kitty,” she said, in a tone of irritation, 
77 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“that I do not understand how it was that out of the 
score or more of applicants you could not find a bet- 
ter cook than the good-for-nothing creature you have 
now. What was the matter with them ? 77 

“Everything, it seemed to me / 7 answered Mrs. Tol- 
bridge. “Now, here is Dora. She was with me yes- 
terday, and you can ask her about the women we saw . 77 

Miss Panney attached no value whatever to the 
opinions, in regard to domestic service, of the young 
lady who had just entered the room, and she asked 
her no questions. Miss Bannister, however, did not 
seem in the least slighted, and sat down to join the 
chat. 

“I suppose , 77 said Miss Panney, sarcastically, “that 
you tried to find that woman that the doctor used to 
say he wanted— a woman who had committed some 
great crime, who could find no relief from her 
thoughts but in constant work, work, work . 77 

Mrs. Tolbridge smiled. 

“No, I did not look for her, nor did I try to find 
the person who was of a chilly disposition and very 
susceptible to draughts. We used to want one of that 
sort, but she should be a waitress. But, seriously, 
there were objections to every one of them. Beligion 
was a great obstacle. The churches of Thorbury are 
not designed for the consciences of city servants. 
There was no Lutheran church for the Swedes, and 
the fact that the Catholic church was a mile from our 
house, with no street-cars, settled the question for 
most of them. The truth is, none of them wanted to 
come into the country, unless they could get near 
Newport or some other suitable summer resort . 77 

“But there was that funny old body in a shawl , 77 
78 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


said Dora, “who made no objections to churches, or 
anything else, in fact, as soon as she found out your 
husband wasn’t in trade.” 

“True,” replied Mrs. Tolbridge, “she didn’t object, 
but she was objectionable.” 

Miss Panney was beginning to fasten her wrap 
about her. She had heard quite enough, but still she 
deigned to snap out : 

“What was the matter with her?” 

“Oh, she was entirely out of the question,” said the 
lady of the house. “In the first place, she was the 
widow of a French chef, or somebody of that sort, and 
has a wonderful opinion of her abilities. She under- 
stands all kinds of cooking— plain or fancy.” 

“And even butter,” said Dora. “She said she knew 
all about that.” 

“Yes. And she understood how butcher’s meat 
should be cut, and the choosing of poultry, and I 
know not what else besides.” 

“And only asked,” cried Dora, laughing, “if your 
husband was in trade, and, when she heard that he 
was a professional man, was perfectly willing to come.” 

Miss Panney turned toward Mrs. Tolbridge, sat up 
very straight in her chair, and glared. 

“Was not this the very woman you were looking 
for ? Why didn’t you take her ? ” 

“Take her!” repeated Mrs. Tolbridge, with some 
irritation. “What could I do with a woman like 
that ? She would want enormous wages. She would 
have to have kitchen-maids, and I know not whom 
besides, to wait on her. And as for our plain style of 
living, she could not be expected to stand that. She 
would be entirely out of place in a house like this.” 

79 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“Her looks were enough to settle her case/’ said 
Dora. “You never saw such an old witch. She 
would frighten the horses.” 

“Kitty Tolbridge,” said Miss Panney, severely, “did 
you ask that woman if she wanted high wages, if she 
required kitchen-maids, if she would be satisfied to 
cook for your family ? ” 

“Ho, I didn’t,” said the other. “I knew it was of 
no use. It was plain to see that she would not do at 
all.” 

“Did you get her address ? ” 

“Yes,” said Dora. “She gave me a card as we were 
going out, and insisted on my taking it. It is in my 
bag at home.” 

Miss Panney was silent for a moment, and was evi- 
dently endeavoring to cool her feelings so as to speak 
without indignation. 

“Kitty Tolbridge,” she said presently, “I think you 
have deliberately turned your back on one of the 
greatest opportunities ever offered to a woman with 
a valuable husband. There are husbands who have 
no value, and who might as well be hurried to their 
graves by indigestion as in any other way. But the 
doctor is not one of these. How, whatever you know of 
that woman proves her to be the very person who 
should be in your kitchen at this moment. And 
whatever you have said against her is all the result of 
your imagination. If I were in your place, I would 
take the next train for the city, and before I closed 
my eyes this night I would know whether or not such 
a prize as that were in my reach. I say ( prize ’ because 
I never heard of such a chance being offered to a 
doctor’s wife in a country town. Kow, what are you 
80 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


going to do about it, Kitty ! If your regard for your 
husband’s physical condition is not sufficient to make 
you look on this matter as I do, think of his soul. If 
you don’t believe that true religion and good cooking 
go hand in hand, wait a year, and then see what sort 
of a husband you will have.” 

Mrs. Tolbridge felt that she ought to resent this 
speech— that she ought to be, at least, a little angry. 
But when she was a small girl Miss Panney was an 
old woman who sometimes used to scold her. She 
had not minded the scoldings very much then, and 
she could not bring herself to mind this scolding very 
much now. Occasionally she had scolded Miss Panney, 
and the old lady had never been angry. 

“I shall not go to the city,” she said, with a smile. 
“But I will write and ask all the questions. Then 
our consciences will be easier.” 

Miss Panney rose to her feet. 

“Do it, I beg of you,” she said, “and do it this 
morning. And now, Dora, if you walked here, I will 
drive you home in my phaeton, for you ought to send 
that address to Mrs. Tolbridge without delay.” 

As the old roan jogged away from the doctor’s 
house, Miss Panney remarked to her companion : “I 
needn’t have hurried you off so soon, Dora, for it is 
three hours before the next mail will leave. But I 
did want Mrs. Tolbridge to sit down at once and write 
that letter, without being interrupted by anything 
which you might have come to tell her. Of course, 
the sooner you send her the address, the better.” 

“The boy shall take it to her as soon as I get home,” 
said Dora. 

She very much disliked scoldings, and had not now 
81 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


a word to say against the old body who would frighten 
the horses. Desirous of turning the conversation in 
another direction without seeming to force it, “It 
seems to me/’ she said, “that Mr. and Miss Haverley 
ought to have somebody better to cook for them than 
old Phoebe. I have always looked upon her as a sort 
of a charwoman, working about from house to house, 
doing anything that people hired her to do.” 

“That’s just what those Haverleys want,” said Miss 
Panney. “At present, everything is charwork at 
their place, and as to their food, I don’t suppose they 
think much about it, so that they get enough. At 
their age they can eat anything.” 

“How old is Miss Haverley?” asked Dora. 

“Miss Haverley ! ” repeated Miss Panney. “She’s 
nothing but a girl, with her hair down her back and 
her skirts a foot from the ground. I call her a child.” 

A shadow came over the soul of Miss Bannister. 
Would it be possible, she thought, to maintain, with 
a girl who did not yet put up her hair or wear long 
skirts, the intimacy she had hoped to maintain with 
Mr. Haverley’s sister? 

Very much the same idea was in the mind of Miss 
Panney, but she thought it well to speak encourag- 
ingly. “I wish, for her brother’s sake, the girl were 
older,” said she. “But housekeeping will help to 
mature her much more quickly than if she had re- 
mained at school. And as for school,” she added, “it 
strikes me it would be a good thing for her to go back 
there — after a while.” 

Dora thought this a good opinion, but before she 
could say anything on the subject, she lifted her eyes, 
and beheld Ralph Haverley walking down the street 
82 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


toward them. He was striding along at a fine pace, 
and looked as if he enjoyed it. 

“I declare / 7 ejaculated Miss Bannister, “here he is 
himself. We shall meet him . 77 

“He? Who ? 77 And Miss Panney looked from side 
to side of the road, and the moment she saw the 
young man, she smiled. 

It pleased her that Dora should speak of him as 
“he , 77 showing that the brother was in her mind when 
they had been talking of the sister. 

Miss Panney drew up to the sidewalk, and Ralph 
stopped. 

He was greatly pleased with the cordial greeting 
he received from the two ladies. These Thorbury 
people were certainly very sociable and kind-hearted. 

The sunlight was on Dora 7 s soul now, and it sparkled 
in her eyes. 

“It was my other hand that I gave you when I met 
you before , 77 she said, with a charming smile. 

“Yes , 77 said Ralph, also with a smile, “and I think 
I held it an uncommonly long time . 77 

“Indeed, you did , 77 said Dora. And they both 
laughed. 

Miss Panney listened in surprise. 

“You two seem to know each other better than I 
supposed , 77 she said. “When did you become ac- 
quainted ? 77 

“We have met but once before , 77 replied Dora, 
“but that was rather a peculiar meeting . 77 Then she 
told the story of her call at Cobhurst, and of the mare 7 s 
forelock, and the old lady was delighted with the 
narration. She had never planned a match which 
had begun so auspiciously. These young people must 
83 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


be truly congenial, for already a spirit of comradeship 
seemed to have sprung up between them. But, of 
course, that sort of thing could not be kept up to the 
desirable point without the assistance of the sister. 
In some way or other, that girl must be managed. 
Miss Panney determined to give her mind to it. 

With Ralph standing close by the side of the phae- 
ton, the reins lying loose on the back of the drowsy 
roan, and Dora leaning forward from her seat so as 
to speak better with the young man, the interview 
was one of considerable length, and no one seemed to 
think it necessary that it should be brought to a close. 
Ralph had come to attend to some business in the 
town, and had preferred to walk rather than drive 
the brown mare. 

“Did you ever catch that delightfully obstinate 
creature ? 77 cried Dora. “And did you give your sis- 
ter a drive in the gig ? 77 

“Oh, yes , 77 said Ralph, “I easily caught her again, 
and I curried and polished her up myself, and 
trimmed her mane and tail and fetlocks, and since 
she has been having good meals of oats, you can 
hardly imagine what a sleek-looking beast she has be- 
come. We drove her into Thorbury when Miriam 
returned your call. I am sorry you were not at 
home, so that you might have seen what a change had 
come over Mrs. Browning . 77 

Dora looked inquiringly. 

“That is the name that Miriam has given to the 
mare . 77 

Dora laughed. 

“If Mrs. Browning is one of your sister’s favorite 
poets , 77 she said, “that will be a bond between us, for 
84 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


I like her poems better than I do her husband’s— 
at least, I understand them better. I wonder if your 
sister will ever ask me to take a drive with her in the 
gig? I could show her so many pretty places.” 

“ Indeed, she will,” said Ralph. “But you mustn’t 
think we are going to confine ourselves to that sedate 
conveyance and the old mare. The colts are old 
enough to be broken, and when they are ready to 
drive we shall have a spanking team.” 

“That will be splendid,” exclaimed Dora. “I can- 
not imagine anything more inspiriting than driving 
with a pair of freshly broken horses.” 

Miss Panney gave a little sniff. 

“That sort of thing,” she said, “sometimes exalts 
one’s spirit so high that it is never again burdened 
by the body. But all horses have to be broken, and 
people continue to live.” 

She smiled as she thought that the pair of young 
colts which she had taken in hand seemed to give 
promise of driving together most beautifully. But it 
would not do to stop here all the morning, and as 
there was no sign that Dora would tire of asking ques- 
tions or Ralph of answering them, the old lady gath- 
ered up the reins. 

“You mustn’t be surprised, Mr. Haverley,” she 
said, “if the ladies of Thorbury come a good deal to 
Cobhurst. We have more time than the gentlemen, 
and we all want to get well acquainted with your sis- 
ter, and help her in every way that we can. Miss 
Bannister is going to drive over very soon, and stop 
for me on the way, so that we shall call on her to- 
gether.” 

When the young man had bowed and departed, 
85 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


and the old roan was jogging on, Dora leaned back in 
the phaeton and said to herself that, without know- 
ing it, Miss Panney was an angel. When they should 
go together to Cobhurst, the old lady would be sure 
to spend her time talking to the girl. 


86 


CHAPTER IX 


JOHN "WESLEY AND LORENZO DOW AT LUNCHEON 

Two days after her lecture to Mrs. Tolbridge, Miss 
Panney was again in Thorbury, and having finished 
the shopping which brought her there, she determined 
to go to see the doctor’s wife, and find out if that lady 
had acted on the advice given her. She had known 
Mrs. Tolbridge nearly all that lady’s life, and had al- 
ways suspected in her a tendency to neglect advice 
which she did not like, after the adviser was out of 
the way. She did not wish to be over-inquisitive, but 
she intended, in some quiet way, to find out whether 
or not the letter about which she had spoken so 
strongly had been written. If it had not, she would 
take time to make up her mind what she should do. 
Kitty Tolbridge and she had scolded each other often 
enough, and had had many differences, but they had 
never yet seriously quarrelled. Miss Panney did not 
intend to quarrel now, but if she found things as she 
feared they were, she intended to interfere in a way 
that might make Kitty uncomfortable, and perhaps 
produce the same effect on herself and the doctor. 
But let that be as it might, she assured herself there 
87 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


were some things that ought to be done, no matter 
who felt badly about them. 

She found the doctor’s wife in a state of annoyance 
and disquiet, and was greatly surprised to be told 
that this condition had been caused by a note which 
had just been brought to her from her husband, stat- 
ing that he had been called away to a distant patient, 
and would not be able to come home to luncheon. 

“My dear Kitty!” exclaimed Miss Panney, “I 
should have thought you were thoroughly used to 
that sort of thing. I supposed a country doctor 
would miss his midday meal about half the time.” 

“And so he does,” said Mrs. Tolbridge. “But I 
was particularly anxious that he should lunch at home 
to-day, and he promised me that he would.” 

“Well,” said the old lady, “you will have to bear 
up under it as well as you can, and I hope they will 
give him something to eat wherever he is going.” 

Mrs. Tolbridge seemed occupied, and did not 
answer. 

“Miss Panney,” she said suddenly, “will you stay 
and take lunch with me? I should like it ever so 
much.” 

“Are you going to have strawberries?” asked Miss 
Panney. 

Mrs. Tolbridge hesitated a little, and then replied, 
“Yes, we shall have them.” 

“Very well, then, I’ll stay. The Witton strawber- 
ries are small and sour this year, and I haven’t tasted 
a good one yet.” 

During the half-hour which intervened before 
luncheon was announced, Miss Panney discovered 
nothing regarding the matter which brought her there. 

88 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


She would ask no questions, for it was Kitty Tol- 
bridge’s duty to introduce the subject, and she would 
give her a chance. But if she did not do it in a rea- 
sonable time, Miss Panney would not only ask ques- 
tions, but state her opinion. 

When she sat down at the pretty round table, 
arranged for two persons, Miss Panney was surprised 
at the scanty supply of eatables. There was the tea- 
tray, bread and butter, and some radishes. Her soul 
rose in anger. 

“Slops and fruit,” she said to herself. “She isn’t 
worthy to have any sort of a husband, much less such 
a one as she has.” 

There was a vase of flowers in the centre of the 
table, but although Miss Panney liked flowers, at 
meal-times she preferred good, honest food. 

“Shall I give you a cup of tea?” asked her hostess. 

The old lady did not care for tea, but as she con- 
sidered that she could not eat strawberries on an 
empty stomach, she took some, and was just about to 
cast a critical eye on the bread, when a maid entered, 
bearing a dish containing two little square pieces of 
fisn, covered with a greenish white sauce, and deco- 
rated with bits of water-cress. 

As soon as Miss Panney’s eyes fell upon this dish, 
she understood the situation. Mrs. Tolbridge had actu- 
ally fallen back upon Kipper. Kipper was a caterer 
in Thorbury, and a good one. He was patronized by 
the citizens on extraordinary festive occasions, but 
depended for his custom principally upon certain 
families who came to the village for a few months in 
the summer, and who did not care to trouble them- 
selves with much domestic machinery. 

89 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“Kipper, indeed ! ” thought the old lady. “That is 
the last peg ! A caterer’s tidbit for a hard-working 
man. If she would have her fish cooked properly in 
her own house, she could give him six times as much 
for half the money. And positively,” she continued 
in inward speech, as the maid presented the bread 
and butter, “Kipper’s biscuit ! I suppose she is going 
to let him provide her with everything, just as he 
does for those rich people on Maple Avenue.” 

The fish was very good, and Miss Panney ate every 
morsel of it, but made no remark concerning it. In- 
stead of speaking of food, she talked of the doings of 
the Methodist congregation in Thorbury, who were 
planning to build a new church, far more expensive 
than she believed they could afford. She was engaged 
in berating Mr. Hampton, the minister, who, she de- 
clared, was actually encouraging his flock in their 
proposed extravagance, when the maid gave her a 
clean plate, and handed her a dish of sweetbreads, 
tastefully garnished with clover-blossoms and leaves. 
Miss Panney stopped talking, gazed at the dish for a 
minute, and then helped herself to a goodly portion 
of its contents. 

“Feathers!” she said to herself. “No more than 
froth and feathers to a man who has been working 
hard half a day ! And as to the extravagance of such 
flimsy victuals—” She could keep quiet no longer— 
she was obliged to speak out; and she burst into a 
tirade against people who called themselves pious, 
and yet, wilfully shutting their eyes, were about to 
plunge into wicked wastefulness. She ate as she 
talked, however, and she had brought up John Wes- 
ley, and was about to give her notion of what he 
90 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


would have had to say about a fancy church for a 
Thorbury congregation, when the plates were again 
changed, and a dainty dish of sirloin steak, with 
mushrooms and thin slices of delicately browned po- 
tatoes, was put before her. 

“Well!” inwardly ejaculated the old lady, “some- 
thing substantial at last. But what money this meal 
must have cost ! ” 

As she cut into the thick, juicy piece of steak, 
which had been broiled until it was cooked enough, 
and not a minute more, Miss Panney’s mind dropped 
from the consideration of congregational finances into 
that of domestic calculation. She knew Kipper’s 
charges— she knew everybody’s charges. 

“That dish of fish,” she said to herself, “was not 
less than sixty cents ; the sweetbreads cost a dollar, if 
they cost a cent 5 this sirloin, with mushrooms, was 
seventy-five cents ; that, with the French biscuit, is two 
dollars and a half for a family lunch for two people ! ” 

Miss Panney did not let her steak get cold, for she 
could talk and eat at the same time, and the founder 
of Methodism never delivered so scorching a tirade 
against pomp and show in professors of religion as she 
gave forth in his name. 

Mrs. Tolbridge had been very quiet during the 
course of the meal, but she was now constrained to 
declare that she had nothing to do with the plans for 
the new Methodist church, and, in fact, she knew very 
little about them. 

“Some things concern all of us,” retorted Miss Pan- 
ney. “Suppose Bishop White, when he was ordained 
and came back to this country, had found a little 
village—” 


91 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Her remarks were stopped by a dish of salad. The 
young and tender leaves of lettuce were half concealed 
by a mayonnaise dressing. 

“This makes three dollars,” thought Miss Panney, 
as she helped herself, “for Kipper never makes any 
difference, even if you send your own lettuce to be 
dressed.” And then she went on talking about Bishop 
White, and what he would have thought of a little 
cathedral in every country town. 

“But the Methodists do not have cathedrals,” said 
Mrs. Tolbridge. 

“Which makes it all the worse when they try to 
build their meeting-houses to look like them,” replied 
the old lady. 

It was a long time since Miss Panney had tasted 
any mayonnaise dressing as good as this. But she re- 
membered that the strawberries were to come, and 
did not help herself again to salad. 

“If one of the old Methodist circuit-riders,” she said, 
“after toiling over miles of weary road in the rain or 
scorching sun, and preaching sometimes in a log 
meeting-house, sometimes in a barn, and often in a 
private house, should suddenly come upon—” 

The imaginary progress of the circuit-rider was 
brought to a stop by the arrival of the last course of 
the luncheon. From a pretty glass dish uprose a 
wondrous structure. Within an encircling wall of 
delicate candied tracery was heaped a little mound 
of creamy frost, the sides of great strawberries show- 
ing here and there among the veins and specks of 
crimson juice. 

Miss Panney raised her eyes from this creation to 
the face of her hostess. 


92 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“ Kitty,” said she, “is this the doctor’s birthday?” 

“No,” answered Mrs. Tolbridge, with a smile. “He 
was born in January.” 

“Yours, then, perhaps?” 

Mrs. Tolbridge shook her head. 

“A dollar and a half,” thought the old lady, “and 
perhaps more. Five dollars, at the very least, for the 
meal ! If the doctor makes that much between meals, 
day in and day out, she ought to be thankful.” 

The dainty concoction to which the blazing-eyed 
old lady now applied herself was something she had 
never before tasted, and she became of the opinion 
that Kipper would not get up a dish of that sort, and 
so much of it, for less than two dollars. 

“There was a Methodist preacher,” she said, spoon- 
ful after spoonful of the cold and fruity concoction 
melting in her mouth as she spoke, “a regular apostle 
of the poor, named Lorenzo Dow. How I would like 
to have him here ! He was a man who would let 
people know in trumpet tones, by day and by night, 
what he thought of wicked, wasteful prodigality, no 
matter how pleasant it might be, how easy it might 
be, or how proper in people who could afford it. Is 
there to be anything more, Kitty Tolbridge ? ” 

The doctor’s wife could not restrain a little laugh. 

“No,” she said, “there is to be nothing more, unless 
you will take a little tea.” 

Miss Panney pushed back her chair and looked at 
her hostess. “Tea after a meal like that ! I should 
think not. If you had had champagne during the 
luncheon, and coffee afterwards, I shouldn’t have been 
surprised.” 

“I did not order coffee,” said Mrs. Tolbridge, “be- 
93 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

cause we don’t take it in the middle of the day, 
but— ” 

“You ordered quite enough/’ said her visitor, se- 
verely. “And I will say this for Kipper, that he 
never got up a better meal, although—” 

“Kipper ! ” interrupted Mrs. Tolbridge. “Kipper 
had nothing to do with this luncheon. It was pre- 
pared by my new cook. It is the first meal she has 
given us, and I am so sorry the doctor could not be 
here to eat it.” 

Miss Panney rose from her chair, and gazed ear- 
nestly at Mrs. Tolbridge. 

“What cook?” she asked in her deepest tones. 

“Jane La Fleur,” was the reply,— “the woman you 
urged me to write to. I sent the letter that after- 
noon. Yesterday she came to see me, and I engaged 
her. And while we were at breakfast this morning, 
she arrived with her boxes, and went to work.” 

“And she cooked that meal— she herself made all 
those things ? ” 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Tolbridge. “She even churned the 
butter and made the biscuit. She says she is going to 
do a great deal better than this when she gets things 
in order.” 

“Better than this ! ” ejaculated Miss Panney. “Do 
you mean to say, Kitty Tolbridge, that this sort of 
thing is going to happen three times a day? What 
have you done? What sort of a creature is she? 
Tell me all about it this very minute.” 

Mrs. Tolbridge led the way to the parlor, and the 
two sat down. 

“Now,” said the doctor’s wife, “suppose you finish 
94 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


what you were saying about the Methodist church, 
then— ” 

Miss Panney stamped her foot. 

“Don’t mention them!” she cried. “Let them 
build tower on tower, spire on spire, crypts, picture- 
galleries, altars, confessionals, if they like. Tell me 
about your new cook.” 

“It will take a long time to tell you all about her— 
at least, all she told me,” said Mrs. Tolbridge, “for she 
talked to me more than an hour this morning, work- 
ing away all the time. Her name is Jane La Fleur, 
but she does not wish any one to call her Jane. She 
would like the family to use her last name, and the 
servants can do the same, or call her 1 madam.’ She 
is the widow of two chefs, one a Florentine named 
Tolati, and the other a Frenchman, La Fleur. She 
acted as 1 second’ to each of these, and in that way 
has thoroughly learned the art of Italian cooking, as 
well as the French methods. She herself is English, 
and she has told me about some of the great families 
she and her husbands lived with.” 

“Kitty,” said Miss Panney, “I should think she was 
trying to impose upon you with a made-up story. 
But after that luncheon I will believe anything she 
says about her opportunities. How in the world did 
you get such a woman to come to you ? ” 

“Oh, the whole business of engaging her was very 
simple,” answered Mrs. Tolbridge. “Her last husband 
left her some money, and she came to this country on 
a visit to relatives, but she loved her art so much, she 
said—” 

“Did she call it art?” asked Miss Panney. 

95 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“Yes, she did— that she felt she must cook, and she 
lived for some time with a family named Drane, in 
Pennsylvania, with whom the doctor used to be ac- 
quainted. She had a letter from them which fully 
satisfied me. On her part, she said she would be con- 
tent with the salary I paid my last cook.” 

“Did she call it salary?” exclaimed the old lady. 

“That was the word she used,” answered Mrs. Tol- 
bridge, “and, as I said before, the only question she 
asked was whether or not my husband was in trade.” 

“What did that matter?” asked the other. 

“It seemed to matter a great deal. She said she 
had never yet lived with a tradesman, and never in- 
tended to. She was with Mrs. Drane, the widow of a 
college professor, for several months, and when the 
family found they could no longer afford to keep 
a servant who could do nothing but cook, La Fleur 
returned to her relatives, and looked for another po- 
sition. But not until I came, she said, had any one 
applied who was not in trade.” 

“She must be an odd creature,” said Miss Panney. 

“She is odder than odd,” was the answer. 

At this moment the maid came in and told Mrs. 
Tolbridge that the madam cook wanted to see her. 
The lady of the house excused herself, and in a few 
minutes returned, smiling. 

“She wished to tell me,” said she, “before my vis- 
itor left, that the name of the ‘sweet ’ which she gave 
us at luncheon is la jpromesse , being merely a promise 
of what she is going to do when she gets about her 
everything she wants.” 

“Kitty Tolbridge,” said Miss Panney, solemnly, 
“whatever happens, don’t mind that woman’s oddity. 

96 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Keep your mind on her cooking, and don’t consider 
anything else. She is an angel, and she belongs to 
the very smallest class of angels that visit human be- 
ings. You may find, by the dozen, philanthropists, 
kind friends, helpers and counsellors, the most loving 
and generous ; but a cook like that in a Thorbury 
family is as rare as— as— as— I can’t think of anything 
so rare. I came here, Kitty, to find out if you had 
written to that woman, and now to discover that the 
whole matter has been settled in two days, and that 
the doors of Paradise have been opened to Dr. Tol- 
bridge,— for you know, Kitty, that the Garden of 
Eden was truly Paradise until they began to eat the 
wrong things,— I feel as if I had been assisting at a 
miracle.” 


97 


CHAPTER X 


A SILK GOWN AND A BOTTLE 

It was toward the end of June that Miss Dora Ban- 
nister returned from a fortnight’s visit to some friends 
at the sea-shore, and she had been home a very little 
while when she became convinced that her most im- 
portant duty was to go to see that young girl at Cob- 
hurst. It seemed very strange that so long a time 
had passed since the arrival of the Haverleys into the 
neighborhood, and she had never yet seen his sister. 
In Miss Bannister’s mind there was a central point, 
about which clustered everything connected with 
Cobhurst. That point was a young man, and the 
house was his house, and the fields were his fields, 
and the girl was his sister. 

It so happened, the very next day, that Herbert 
Bannister found it necessary to visit a lady client 
who lived about four miles beyond Cobhurst, and 
when Dora heard this she was delighted. Her brother 
should take her as far as Cobhurst with him. They 
should start early enough to give him time to stop 
and call on Ralph Haverley, which he most certainly 
ought to do, and then he could go on and attend to 
98 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


his business, leaving her at Cobhurst. Even if neither 
the brother nor the sister were at home, she would 
not mind being left at that charming old place. She 
would take a book with her, for there were so many 
shady spots where she could sit and read until Her- 
bert came back. 

Herbert Bannister, whose mind was devoted to busi- 
ness and the happiness of his sister, was well pleased 
with this arrangement, and about three o’clock in the 
afternoon the buggy containing the two stopped in 
front of the Cobhurst portico. 

The front door was open, and they could see 
through the hall and the open back door into the 
garden beyond. 

Dora laughed as she said, “This is just what hap- 
pened when I came here before — everything wide 
open, as though there were no flies nor dogs nor 
strangers.” 

Herbert got out and rang the bell. He rang it 
twice, but no one came. Dora beckoned him to her. 

“It is of no use,” she said. “That also happened 
when I came before. They don’t live in the house— 
at least, in the daytime. But, Herbert, there is a man.” 

At this moment the negro Mike was seen at a little 
distance, hurrying along with a tin pitcher in his 
hand. Herbert advanced and called to him, and 
Mike, with his pitcher, approached. 

“The boss,” he said, in response to their inquiries, 
“is down in the big meadow, helpin’ me get in the 
hay. We tried to git extry help, but everybody’s 
busy this time o’ year, and he and me has got to step 
along pretty sharp to git that hay in before it rains. 
Ho, miss, I dunno where the young lady is. She was 
99 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


down in the hay-field this morning rakin’, but I 
’spects she is doin’ some sort of housework jes now, or 
perhaps she’s in the garden. I’d go and look her up, 
but, beggin’ your pardon, I ain’t got one minute to 
spare— the boss is waitin’ for me now.” And, touching 
his shabby old hat, Mike departed. 

“What shall we do?” asked Herbert, standing by 
the buggy. 

“I think,” said Dora, slowly and decisively, as if 
she had fully considered the matter, “that you may 
as well go on, for I don’t suppose it would do to dis- 
turb Mr. Haverley now. I know that when people 
are making hay they can’t stop for anything.” 

“You are right,” said her brother, with a smile. 
“Hay-making is like drawing the will of a rich 
man on his death-bed. It must be done promptly, if 
it is done at all. I shall go on, of course, and you 
will go with me!” 

“No, indeed,” said Dora, preparing to get down 
from the buggy. “I would not want to wait for you 
in that tiresome old horsehair parlor of the Dudleys. 
I should ever so much rather sit here, by myself, until 
you come back. But, of course, I shall see her before 
long. Isn’t it funny, Herbert? I had to look for her 
when I came here before, and I suppose I shall always 
have to look for her whenever I come.” 

Her brother admitted that it was funny, and, accept- 
ing her arrangement, he drove away. Dora rang the 
bell, and stepped into the hall. “I will wait here a 
little while,” she said to herself, “then I will go to 
Phoebe’s house, and ask her where she is. If she does 
not know, I do not in the least mind walking over to 
the hay-field and calling to Mr. Haverley. It would 
100 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


not take him three minutes to come and tell me where 
I would better go to look for his sister.” 

At this Miss Bannister smiled a little. She would 
be really glad to know if Mr. Haverley would be wil- 
ling to leave that important hay and make every- 
thing wait until he came to speak to her. As she 
stood, she looked about her. On a table by the wall 
lay a straw hat trimmed with flowers, and a pair of 
long gloves a good deal soiled and worn. Dora’s eyes 
passed carelessly over these, and rested on another 
pair of gloves, larger and heavier. 

“lie hasn’t driven much, yet,” she said to herself, 
“for they look almost new. I wonder when he will 
break his colts. Then, I suppose, he will drive a good 
deal.” 

Dora was a girl who noticed things, and turning to 
the other side of the hall, she saw a larger table, and 
on it lay a powder-horn and a shot-flask, while in the 
angle of the table and the wall there stood a double- 
barrelled fowling-piece. This sight made her eyes 
sparkle. He must like to hunt and shoot. That 
pleased her very much. Herbert never cared for 
those things, but she thought a young man should be 
fond of guns and dogs and horses, and although she 
had never thought of it before, she now considered it 
a manly thing to be able to go out into the hay-field 
and work, if it happened to be necessary. 

She went to the back door, and stood, looking out. 
There was nobody stirring about Phoebe’s house, and 
she asked herself if it would be worth while to go 
over to it. Perhaps it might be as well to stroll 
toward the hay-field. She knew where the great 
meadow was, because she had looked over it when she 
101 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


had stood at the wide barn window with Mr. Haver- 
ley. He had pointed out a good many things to her, 
and she remembered them all. 

But she did not go to the hay-field. Just as she 
was about to step out upon the back porch, she heard 
a door open behind her, and turning, saw, emerging 
from the closed apartment which contained the stair- 
case, a strange figure. The head was that of a young 
girl about fourteen, with large, astonished blue eyes, 
and light-brown hair hanging in a long plait down 
her back, while her form was attired in a plum-colored 
silk gown, very much worn, torn in some places, with 
several great stains in the front of the skirt, and a 
long and tattered train. The shoulders were ever so 
much too wide, the waist was ever so much too big, 
and the long sleeves were turned back and rolled up. 
In her hand the figure held a large glass bottle, from 
the mouth of which hung a short rubber tube ending 
in a bulbous mouth-piece. 

Dora could not suppress a start and an expression 
of surprise, but she knew this must be Miriam Haver- 
ley, and advanced toward her. In a moment she had 
recovered her self-possession sufficiently to introduce 
herself and explain the situation. Miriam took the 
bottle in her left hand, and held out her right to 
Dora. 

“I have been expecting you would call,” she said, 
“but I had no idea you were here now. The door- 
bell is in the basement, and I have been up-stairs, try- 
ing to get dough off my hands. I have been making 
bread, and I had no idea it was so troublesome to get 
your hands clean afterwards, but I expect my dough 
is stickier than it ought to be. And after that I was 
102 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


busy getting myself ready to go out and feed a calf. 
Will you walk into the parlor?” 

“Oh, no,” cried Dora. “Let me go with you to feed 
the calf. I shall like that ever so much better.” 

“It can wait just as well as not,” said Miriam. 
“We can sit in the hall, if you like.” And she moved 
toward an old-fashioned sofa which stood against the 
wall. As she did so, she stepped on the front of her 
voluminous silk gown, and came near falling. 

“The horrid old thing ! ” she exclaimed. “I am al- 
ways tripping over it.” And as she glanced at Dora 
the two girls broke into a laugh. “I expect you think 
I look like a perfect guy,” she said, as they seated 
themselves, “and so I do, but, you see, the calf is not 
much more than a week old, and its mother has en- 
tirely deserted it, and kicks and horns at it if it comes 
near her. It got to be so weak it could scarcely stand 
up, and I have adopted it, and feed it out of this bot- 
tle. The first time I did it I nearly ruined the dress 
I had on, and so I went to the garret and got this old 
gown, which covers me up very well, though it looks 
dreadfully, and is awfully awkward.” 

“To whom did it belong?” asked Dora. “It is 
made in such a queer way — not like really old-fash- 
ioned things.” 

“I am sure I don’t know to whom it belonged,” said 
Miriam. “There are all sorts of things in our garret, 
—except things that are good for some particular 
purpose,— and this old gown was the best I could find 
to cover me up. It looks funny, but then, the whole 
of it is funny — calf-feeding and all.” 

“Why do you have to make your own bread?” 
asked Dora. “Doesn’t Phoebe do that?” 

103 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“Oh, Phoebe isn’t here now. She went away nearly 
a week ago, and I do all the work. I went to Thor- 
bnry and engaged a woman to come here, but as 
that was three days ago, and she has not come yet, I 
think she must have changed her mind.” 

“But why did Phoebe leave you?” exclaimed Miss 
Bannister. “She ought to be ashamed of herself, to 
leave you without any one to help you.” 

“Well,” replied Miriam, “she said she wasn’t regu- 
larly employed, anyway, and there were plenty of 
cooks in the town that I could get, and that she was 
obliged to go. You see, the colored church in Thor- 
bury has just got a new minister, and he has to board 
somewhere. And as soon as Phoebe heard that, she 
made up her mind to take a house and board him, 
and she did it before anybody else could get the 
chance. Mike, her husband, who works for us, talked 
to her, and we talked to her, but it wasn’t of any use. 
I think she considers it one of the greatest honors in 
the world to board a minister. Mike does not believe 
in that sort of business, but he says that Phoebe has 
always been in the habit of doing what she wants to, 
and he is getting used to it.” 

“But it is impossible for you to do all the work,” 
said Dora. 

“Oh, well,” replied Miriam, “some of it doesn’t get 
done, and some of it I am helped with. Mike does 
ever so much. He makes the fires, and carries the 
heavy things, and sometimes even cooks. My brother 
Ralph helps, too, when there is anything he can do, 
which is not often. But just now they are so busy 
with their hay that it is harder upon me than it was 
before. We have had soda-biscuit and all that sort 
of thing, but I saw that Ralph was getting tired of 
104 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


them, and to-day I thought I would try and make 
some real bread— though how it is going to turn out, 
I don’t know.” 

“Come, let us go out and feed the calf,” said Dora. 
“I really want to see how you do it. I have come to 
make you a good, long call, you must know.” And 
then she explained how her brother had left her, 
while he went on to attend to his business. 

At this Miriam was much relieved. She had been 
thinking that perhaps she would better go up -stairs 
and take off that ridiculous silk dress, and entertain 
her visitor properly during the rest of her call. But 
if Miss Bannister was going to stay a good while, and 
if there was no coachman outside to see her and her 
train, there was no reason why she should not go and 
feed the calf, and then come back and put herself 
into the proper trim for the reception of visitors. It 
seemed strange to her, but she was positively sure 
that she would not have felt so much at ease with 
this handsomely dressed young lady if she herself 
had been attired in her best clothes. But now they 
had met without its being possible for either Miss 
Bannister or herself to make any comparisons of at- 
tire. The old, draggled silk gown did not count one 
way or the other. It was simply a covering to keep 
one’s clothes clean when one fed a calf. When they 
should return to the house, and she took off her old 
gown, she and her visitor would be better acquainted, 
and their comparative opinions of each other would 
not depend so much on clothes. Miriam was accus- 
tomed to making philosophical reflections concerning 
her relations with the rest of the world, and in regard 
to these relations she was at times very sensitive. 


105 


CHAPTER XI 


TWO GIRLS AND A CALF 

Haying gone to the kitchen to fill the bottle with 
m ilk which she had set to warm, Miriam accom- 
panied her guest to the barn. As she walked by the 
side of Dora, with the bottle in one hand and the 
other holding up her voluminous silk robe, it was 
well for her peace of mind that no stately coachman 
sat upon a box and looked at her. 

In a corner of the lower floor of the barn they 
found the calf, lying upon a bed of hay, and covered 
by a large piece of mosquito-netting, which Miriam 
had fastened above and around him. Dora laughed 
as she saw this. 

“It isn’t every calf,” she said, “that sleeps so luxu- 
riously.” 

“The flies worried the poor thing dreadfully,” said 
Miriam, “but I take it off when I feed it.” 

She proceeded to remove the netting, but she had 
scarcely done so when she gave an exclamation that 
was almost a scream. 

“Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! ” she cried. “I believe it is 
dead.” And down she sat upon the floor close to the 
calf, which lay motionless, with its head and neck ex- 
106 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


tended. Down also sat Dora. She did not need to 
consider the hay-strewn floor and her clothes, for al- 
though she wore a very tasteful and becoming cos- 
tume, it was one she had selected with reference to 
barn explorations, field strolls, and anything rural and 
dusty which any one else might be doing, or might 
propose. N o one could tell what dusty and delightful 
occupation might turn up during an afternoon at 
Cobhurst. 

“Its eye does look as if it were dead,” she exclaimed. 
“What a pity ! ” 

“Oh, you can’t tell by that eye,” said Miriam, over 
whose cheeks a few tears were now running. “Dr. 
Tolbridge says it has infantile ophthalmia in that eye, 
but that, as soon as it gets strong enough, he can cure 
it. We must turn up its other eye.” 

She took the little creature’s head in her lap, with 
the practicable eye uppermost. This slowly rolled in 
its socket, as she bent over it. 

“There is life in it yet,” she cried. “Give me the 
bottle.” 

The calf slowly rolled its eye to the position from 
which it had just moved, and declined to consider food. 

“Oh, it must drink— we must make it drink ! ” said 
Miriam. “If I open its mouth, will you put in the 
end of that tube? If it gets a taste of the milk, it 
may want more. We must not let it die. But you 
must be careful,” she continued. “That bottle leaks 
all around the cork. Spread part of my skirt over 
you.” 

Dora followed this advice, for she had not consid- 
ered a milk-stained lap among the contingent circum- 
stances of the afternoon. Holding the bottle over the 
107 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

listless animal, she managed to get some drops on its 
tongue. 

“Now,” said Miriam, “we will put that in its 
mouth, and shut its jaws, and perhaps it may begin 
to suck. It will be perfectly dreadful if it dies.” 

The two girls sat close together, their eyes fixed 
upon the apparently lifeless head of the bovine infant. 

“See ! ” cried Miriam, presently, “its throat moves. 
I believe it is sucking the milk.” 

Dora leaned over and gazed. It was, indeed, true. 
The calf was beginning to take an interest in food. 
The interest increased. The girls could see the milk 
slowly diminishing in the bottle. Before long the 
creature gave its head a little wabble. Miriam was 
delighted. 

“That is the way it always does when its appetite 
is good. We must let it drink every drop, if it will.” 

There they sat on the hard, hay-strewn floor, one 
entirely, and the other almost entirely, covered with 
purple silk, their eyes fixed upon the bottle and the 
feeding calf. After a time the latter declined to take 
any more milk, and raised its head from Miriam’s 
lap. 

“There,” she cried. “See, it can hold up its own 
head. I expect it was only faint from want of food. 
After this I will feed it oftener. It was the bread- 
making that made me forget it this time.” 

“Let us wait a minute,” said Dora, who was now 
taking an earnest and womanly interest in the welfare 
of this weakling. “Perhaps after a while it may want 
some more.” 

And so they continued to sit. Every motion of the 
calf s head, and every effort it made to bend its legs 
108 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST . 


or change its position, sent sparkles of delight into 
Miriam’s eyes, and brightened Dora’s beautiful face 
with sympathetic smiles. 

Dora had taken up the bottle, and was about to 
give the calf an opportunity to continue its repast, 
when suddenly she stopped and sat motionless. Out- 
side the barn, approaching footsteps could be plainly 
heard. They were heavy, apparently those of a man. 
Dora dropped the bottle, letting it roll unheeded upon 
the floor. Then, pushing Miriam’s skirt from her lap, 
she sprang to her feet, and stepped backward and 
away from the little group so quickly that she nearly 
stumbled over some inequalities in the floor. Miriam 
looked up in astonishment. 

“You needn’t be frightened,” she said. “How red 
you are ! I suppose it is only Ralph.” 

“I was afraid it was,” said Dora, in a low voice, as 
she shook out her skirts. “I wouldn’t have had him 
see me that way for anything.” 

Now Miriam was angry. There was nothing to be 
ashamed of, that she could see, and it was certainly 
very rude in Miss Bannister to drop her bottle and 
nearly push her over in her haste to get away from 
her and her poor calf. 

The person who had been approaching the barn 
now entered, but it was not Ralph Haverley. It was 
a shorter and stouter young man with side-whiskers. 

“Why, Herbert ! ” exclaimed Dora, in a tone of sur- 
prise and disappointment, “have you got back 
already ? ” 

Her brother smiled. “I haven’t got back,” he said, 
“for I haven’t been anywhere yet. I had not gone a 
mile before one of the springs of the buggy broke, 
109 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


and it keeled over so far that I came near tumbling 
out. It happened at a place where there were no 
houses near, so I drew the buggy to the roadside, took 
out the horse, and led him back. I heard voices in 
here, and I came in. I must go and look for Mr. 
Haverley, and ask him to lend me a vehicle in which 
we may return home.” 

Dora stood annoyed. She did not want to return 
home— at least, not so soon. She had calculated on 
Herbert making a long stay with Mrs. Dudley. 

“I suppose so,” she replied in an injured tone. 
“But before we say anything else, Herbert, let me in- 
troduce you to Miss Haverley.” 

She turned, but in the corner to which she directed 
her eyes she saw only a calf. There was no young per- 
son in silk attire. The moment that Miriam perceived 
that the man who came in was not her brother, but 
the brother of some one else, her face had crimsoned, 
she had pushed away the unfortunate calf, and, spring- 
ing to her feet, had darted into the shadows of an 
adjoining stall. From this, before Dora had recovered 
from her surprise at not seeing her, Miriam emerged 
in the costume of a neatly dressed school-girl, with 
her skirts just reaching to the tops of her boots. It 
had been an easy matter to slip off that expansive 
silk gown. She advanced with the air of defensive 
gravity with which she generally greeted strangers, 
and made the acquaintance of Mr. Bannister. 

“I am sure,” she said, when she had heard what 
had happened, “that my brother will be very glad to 
lend you the gig. That is the only thing we have at 
present which runs properly.” 

“A gig will do very well, indeed,” said Mr. Bannis- 
110 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

ter. “We could not want anything better than that— 
although,” he continued, “I am not sure that my har- 
ness will suit a two-wheeled vehicle.” 

“Oh, we have gig harness,” said Miriam, “and we 
will lend you a horse, too, if you like.” 

Dora now thought it was time to say something. 
She was irritated because Herbert had returned so 
soon, and because he was going to take her away be- 
fore she was ready to go ; and although she would 
have been delighted to have a drive in the Cobhurst 
gig, provided the proper person drove her, she did 
not at all wish to return to Thorbury in that ridicu- 
lous old vehicle with Herbert. In the one case, she 
could imagine a delightful excursion in she knew not 
what romantic by-roads and shaded lanes ; but in the 
other, she saw only the jogging old gig, and all the 
neighbors asking what had happened to them. 

“I think,” she said, “it will be well to see Mr. Hav- 
erley as soon as possible. Perhaps he knows of a 
blacksmith’s shop where the buggy can be mended.” 

Herbert smiled. “Repairs of that sort,” he said, 
“require a good deal of time. If we waited for the 
buggy to be put in travelling condition, we would 
certainly have to stay here all night, and probably 
the greater part of to-morrow.” 

In the sudden emotions which had caused her to 
act almost exactly as Dora had acted, Miriam had en- 
tirely forgotten her resentment toward her companion. 

“Why can’t you stay?” she asked. “We have 
plenty of room, you know.” 

The man of business shook his head. 

“Thank you very much,” he replied, “but I must 
be in my office this evening. I think I shall be 
111 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

obliged to borrow your gig. I will walk over to the 
field—” 

“Oh, you need not take the trouble to do that,” 
said Miriam. “They are over there at the end 
of the meadow beyond the hill. The gig is here in 
the barn, and I can lend it to you just as well as he 
can.” 

“You are very kind,” said Herbert, “and I will ac- 
cept your amendment. It will be the better plan, 
because if I saw your brother I should certainly in- 
terfere with his work. He might insist upon coming 
to help me, which is not at all necessary. Where can 
I find the gig, Miss Haverley?” 

Miriam led her visitors to the second floor. 

“There it is,” she said, “but of course you must 
have the harness belonging to it, for your buggy har- 
ness will not hold up the shafts properly. It is in the 
harness-room, but I do not know which it is. There 
is a lot of harness there, but it is mostly old and worn 
out.” 

“I will go and look,” said Herbert. “I think it is 
only part of it that I shall need.” 

During this conversation Dora had said nothing. 
How, as she stood by the old gig, toppling forward 
with its shafts resting upon the floor, she thought she 
had never seen such a horrible, antediluvian old trap 
in her life. Nothing could add so much to her disap- 
pointment in going so soon as going in that thing. 
If there had been anything to say which might pre- 
vent her brother from carrying out his intention, she 
would have said it, but so far there had been nothing. 

She followed the others into the harness-room, and 
as her eyes glanced around the walls, they rested 
112 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


upon a saddle hanging on its peg. Instantly she 
thought of something to say. 

“Herbert,” she remarked, not too earnestly, “I 
think we shall be putting our friends to a great in- 
convenience by borrowing the gig. You will never 
be able to find the right harness, and put it on so that 
there will not be an accident on the road, and Mr. 
Haverley or the man will have to be sent for. And, 
besides, there will be the trouble of getting the gig 
back again. Now, don’t you think it will be a great 
deal better for you to put that saddle on the horse, 
and ride him home, and then send the carriage for 
me! That would be very simple, and no trouble 
at all.” 

Mr. Bannister turned his admiring eyes upon his 
sister. 

“I declare, Dora,” he said, “that is a good, practical 
suggestion. If Miss Haverley will allow me, I will 
borrow the saddle and the bridle, and ride home. I 
shall like that.” 

“Of course you are welcome to the saddle, if you 
wish it,” said Miriam. “But you need not send for 
your sister. Why can’t she stay with me to-night? 
I think it would be splendid to have a girl spend the 
night with me. Perhaps I oughtn’t to call you a girl, 
Miss Bannister.” 

Dora’s eyes sparkled. “But I am a girl, just as you 
are,” she exclaimed, “and I should be delighted to 
stay. You are very good to propose it. Herbert is 
an awfully slow rider,— I believe he always walks his 
horse,— and I am sure it would be after dark before 
the carriage would get here.” 

“Do let her stay,” cried Miriam, seizing Dora’s arm 
113 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


as if they had been old friends. “I shall be so glad to 
have her ! ” 

Mr. Bannister laughed. 

“It is not for me to say what Dora shall do/’ he re- 
plied. “You two must decide that, and if I go home 
to report our safety, it will be all right. It is now 
too late for me to go to Mrs. Dudley’s, especially as I 
ride so slowly. But I will drive there to-morrow, and 
stop for Dora on my return.” 

“Settled ! ” cried Miriam. And Dora gazed at her 
with radiant face. It was delightful to be able to be- 
stow such pleasure. 

In two minutes Mr. Bannister had brought in his 
horse. In the next minute all three of the party were 
busy unbuckling his harness. In ten minutes more it 
had been taken off, the saddle and bridle substituted, 
and Mr. Bannister was riding to Thorbury. 

Dora of the sparkling eyes drew close to Miriam. 

“Would you mind my kissing you? ” she asked. 

There was nothing in the warm young soul of the 
other girl which in the least objected to this token of 
a new-born friendship. 

As Dora and Miriam, each with an arm around the 
waist of the other, walked out of the barn and passed 
the lower story, the calf, who had been the main in- 
strument in bringing about the cordial relations be- 
tween the two, raised his head and gazed at them 
with his good eye. Then, perceiving that they had 
forgotten him, and were going away without even 
arranging his mosquito-net for the night, he slowly 
turned his clouded visual organ in their direction, 
and composed himself to rest. 


114 


CHAPTER XII 


TO EAT WITH THE FAMILY 

As the two girls entered the house, Miriam clapped 
her hands. 

“ What a surprise this will be for Ralph ! ” she ex- 
claimed. “He hasn’t the slightest idea that you are 
here, or that anybody is going to spend the night 
with us. If Mike said anything about you and your 
brother, — which I doubt, for he is awfully anxious to 
get in that hay,— Ralph thought, of course, that you 
were both gone long ago.” 

The situation suited Dora’s fancy admirably. 

“Let us make it a regular surprise,” she said. “I 
am going to help you to get supper, and to do what- 
ever you have to do. Suppose you don’t tell your 
brother that I am here, and let him find it out by de- 
grees. Don’t you think that will be fun ? ” 

“Indeed, it will,” cried the other. “And if you 
don’t mind helping a little about the cooking, I think 
that will be fun, too. Perhaps you can tell me some 
things I don’t know.” 

“Let us begin,” exclaimed Dora, “for everything 
ought to be ready before he comes in. Can you lend 
me a big apron ? *> 


115 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“I have only one,” said Miriam, “and it is not very 
big. I intended to make some more, but I haven’t 
had time. But you needn’t do anything, yon know. 
You can just give me advice and keep me company.” 

“Oh, I want to do things— I want to work,” cried 
Dora. “It would be cruel to keep me from the fun 
of helping you get supper. Haven’t you something I 
can slip on instead of this dress ? It is not very fine, 
but I don’t want to spatter or burn it.” 

“None of my clothes are long enough for you,” said 
Miriam. “But perhaps I might find something in the 
garret. There are all sorts of clothes up there. If 
you choose, we can go up and look.” 

In the next minute the two girls were in the great 
garret, kneeling in front of a trunk, in which Miriam 
had found the silk robe which now lay tumbled up 
in a corner of a stall in the cow-stable. Article after 
article of female attire was drawn out and tossed on 
the floor. Dora was delighted. She was fond of old- 
fashioned things, and here were clothes of various eras 
—some colonial, perhaps, and none that had been worn 
since these two girls had come into the world. There 
was a calico dress with large pink figures in it which 
caught Dora’s eye. She sprang to her feet, shook it 
out, and held it up before her. 

“This will do,” she said. “The length is all right, 
and it does not matter about the rest of the fit.” 

“Of course not,” said Miriam. “And now let us go 
down. We need not wait to put the rest of the things 
back.” 

As Dora was about to go, her eyes fell on an old- 
fashioned pink sunbonnet. 

“If you don’t mind,” she said, “I will take that, too. 

116 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


I shall be awfully awkward, and I don’t want toget 
cinders or flour in my hair.” 

When Dora had arrayed herself in the calico dress 
with pink flowers, she stood for a moment before the 
large mirror in Miriam’s room. The dress was very 
short as to waist, and very perpendicular as to skirt, 
and the sleeves were puffy at the elbows and tight 
about the wrists, but pink was a color that became 
her, the quaint cut of the gown was well suited to her 
blooming face, and altogether she was pleased with 
the picture in the glass. As for the sunbonnet, that 
was simply hideous, but it could be taken off when 
she chose, and the wearing of it would help her very 
much in making herself known to Mr. Ralph 
Haverley. 

For half an hour the girls worked bravely in the 
kitchen. Dora had some knowledge of the principles 
of cookery, though her practice had been small, and 
Miriam possessed an undaunted courage in culinary 
enterprises. However, they planned nothing difficult, 
and got on very well. Dora made up some of Mir- 
iam’s dough into little rolls. 

“I wish I could make these as the Tolbridges’ new 
cook makes them. They say that every morning she 
sends in a plate of breakfast-rolls, each one a different 
shape, and some of them ever so pretty.” 

“ I don’t suppose they taste any better for that,” 
remarked Miriam. 

“ Perhaps not,” said the other, “but I like to see 
things to eat look pretty.” And she did her best to 
shape the little rolls into such forms that they might 
please the eye of Mr. Ralph as well as satisfy his 
palate. 


117 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Miriam went up to the dining-room to arrange the 
table. While doing this she saw Ralph approaching 
from the barn. In the kitchen below, Dora, glancing 
out of the window, also saw him coming, and pulling 
her sunbonnet well forward, she applied herself more 
earnestly to her work. Ralph came in, tired and 
warm, and threw himself down on a long horsehair 
sofa in the hall. 

“ Heigh-ho, Miriam ! 77 he cried, “hay -making is a 
jolly thing all the world over, but I have had enough 
of it for to-day. How are you getting on, little one ? 
Don’t put yourself to too much trouble about my 
supper. Only give me enough of whatever you have ; 
that is all I ask.” 

“ Ralph,” said Miriam, standing gravely by him, “I 
did not have to get supper all by myself. There is a 
new girl in the kitchen.” 

“Good ! ” cried Ralph. “I am very glad to hear 
that. When did she come ? 77 

“This afternoon , 77 said Miriam, “and she is cooking 
supper now. But, Ralph , 77 she continued, “there is 
hardly any wood in the kitchen. We have— she has 
used up nearly all that was brought in this morning . 77 

“Well , 77 said Ralph, “there is plenty of it cut in 
the woodhouse.” 

“But, Ralph , 77 said Miriam, “I don’t like to ask her 
to go after the wood herself, and some is needed now . 77 

“Mike is just as busy as he can be down at the 
barn , 77 said her brother, “and I cannot call him now. 
If you show her the woodhouse, she can get what she 
wants with very little trouble, and Mike will bring in 
a lot of it to-night . 77 

“But, Ralph , 77 persisted his sister, “I don’t want to 
118 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


ask her to stop her cooking and go out and get wood. 
It does not look like good management, for one thing, 
and for other reasons I do not want to do it. Don’t 
you think you could bring her some wood? Just a 
little basketful of short sticks will do.” 

Ealph sat up and knitted his brows. “ Miriam,” 
said he, “if your new cook is the right sort of a 
woman, she ought to be able to help herself in emer- 
gencies of this kind, with the woodhouse not a dozen 
yards from the kitchen. But as she is a stranger to 
the place, and I don’t want to discourage anybody 
who comes to help you, I will get some wood for her ,* 
but I must say that it does not look very well for 
the lord of the manor to be carrying fuel to the 
cook.” 

“It isn’t the lord of the manor,” cried Miriam. “It 
is the head hay-maker. And when you dress yourself 
for supper, she will never think of you as the man 
who brought in the wood.” 

Dora, from the kitchen window, saw Ealph go out 
to the woodhouse, and she saw him returning with an 
armload of small sticks. Then she turned her back 
to the kitchen door, and bent her head over a beef- 
steak she was preparing for the gridiron. 

Ealph came in with the wood, and put it down by 
the side of the great stove. As he glanced at the 
slight form in the pink gown, it struck him that this 
woman would not be equal to the hard work which 
would be sometimes necessary here. 

“I suppose this wood will be as much as you will 
want for the present,” he said, as he turned toward 
the door, “and the man will fill this box to-night ; but 
if you need any more before he does so, there is the 
119 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


woodhouse just across the yard, where you can easily 
get a few sticks.” 

Bora half turned herself in the direction of the 
woodhouse, and murmured, “Yes, sir.” 

“Miriam,” said Ralph, as he went into the dining- 
room, where his sister was putting the knives and 
forks upon the supper-table, “do you think that 
woman is strong enough to wash, iron, and do all tlie 
things that Phoebe used to do when she was here? 
How old is she?” 

“I don’t know, exactly,” answered Miriam, going 
to a cupboard for some glasses. “And as to rough 
work, I can’t tell what she can do until she tries.” 

When Ralph had made his toilet and come down- 
stairs attired in a very becoming summer suit, his 
sister complimented him. 

“Hay-making makes you ever so much handsomer,” 
she said. “You look as if you had been on a yacht- 
ing cruise. There is one thing I forgot to say to 
you, but Ido not suppose it will make any differ- 
ence, as we are real country people now : our new 
cook is accustomed to eating at the table with the 
family.” 

Ralph’s face flushed. “Upon my word ! ” he ex- 
claimed, staring at his sister. “Well,” he continued, 
“I don’t care what she is accustomed to, but she can- 
not eat at our table. I may carry wood for cooks, 
but I do not eat with them.” 

“But, Ralph,” said Miriam, “you ought to consider 
the circumstances. She is not a common Irishwoman, 
or German. She is an American, and has always 
taken her meals with the family in which she lived. 
I could not ask her to eat in the kitchen. You know, 
120 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Mike takes his meals there since Phoebe has gone. 
Indeed, Ralph, I cannot expect her to do a thing that 
she has never done in her life before. Do you really 
think you would mind it*? You work with Mike in 
the field, and you don’t mind that, and this girl is 
very respectable, I assure you.” 

Ralph stood silent. He had supposed that his sister, 
young as she was, knew more of the world than to 
make an arrangement with a servant which would 
put her, in many respects, on an equality with them- 
selves. He was very much annoyed, but he would 
not be angry with Miriam, if he could help it, nor 
would he put her in the embarrassing position of re- 
voking the agreement with this American woman, 
probably a farmer’s daughter, and, in her own opinion, 
as good as anybody. But, although he might yield at 
present, he determined to take the important matter 
of engaging domestic servants into his own hands. 
His sister had not yet the necessary judgment for that 
sort of thing. 

“Miriam,” said he, “for how long have you engaged 
this woman ? ” 

“Nothing at all has been said about time,” she 
answered. 

“Very well, then,” said he. “She can come to the 
table to-night and to-morrow morning, for I suppose, 
if I object, she will go off and leave you again without 
anybody. But to-morrow she must be told that she 
cannot eat with us, and if she does not like that, she 
must leave, and I will go to the city and get you a 
proper servant. The hay is in the mow, and there is 
no more important work to which I could give a day. 
Now, do not be angry, little one, because I object to 
121 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


your domestic arrangements. We all have to make 
mistakes, you know, when we begin.” 

“Thank you, Ralph,” said Miriam. “I really am 
ever so much obliged to you.” And going up to her 
brother, she lifted her face to his. Ralph stooped to 
kiss her, but suddenly stopped. 

“Who, in the name of common sense, is that ! ” he 
exclaimed. 

The sound of wheels was plainly heard upon the 
driveway, and turning, they saw a buggy stop at the 
door. 

“It is Dr. Tolbridge ! ” cried Miriam. 

Through the open front door Ralph saw that it was 
the doctor, preparing to alight. 

“Miriam,” said he, quickly, “we must ask the doc- 
tor to stay to supper, and if he does, that cook must 
not come to the table. It will not do at all, as you 
can see for yourself. We cannot ask our friends and 
neighbors to sit down with servants.” 

“I will see,” said Miriam. “I think that can be 
made all right.” And they both went to the door to 
meet their visitor. 

The doctor shook hands with them most cordially. 

“Glad to see you both so ruddy. Cobhurst air must 
agree with you. And now, before we say anything 
else, let me ask you a question. Have you had your 
supper 1 ” 

“No,” answered Ralph, “and I hope you have not.” 

“Your hopes are realized. I have not, and if you 
do not mind letting me sup with you, I will do 
it.” 

The brother and sister, who both liked the hearty 
122 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


doctor, assured him that they would be delighted to 
have him stay. 

“The reason of my extending an invitation to my- 
self is this : I have been making a visit in the country, 
where I was detained much longer than I expected, 
and as I drove homeward, I said to myself, 1 Good sir, 
you are hungry, and where are you going to get your 
evening meal? You cannot reach home until long 
after the dinner-hour, and moreover you have a 
patient beyond Cobhurst whom you ought to see this 
evening. It would be a great pity to drive all the 
way to Thorbury, and then back again, to-night. 
Now, there are those young Cobhurst people, who, you 
know, have supper at the end of the day, instead of 
dinner, like the regular farmers that they are, and as 
you want to see them, anyway, and find out how they 
are getting on, it will be well to stop there, and, ten 
to one, you will find that they have not yet sat down 
to the table.’ ” 

“A most excellent conclusion,” said Ralph, “and I 
will call Mike, and have him take your horse.” 

Having left the doctor in the charge of her brother, 
Miriam hurried down-stairs to apprise Dora of the state 
of affairs. 

“I am sorry,” she said, “but we will have to give up 
the trick we were going to play on Ralph, for Dr. Tol- 
bridge has come, and will stay to supper, and so, while 
you go up -stairs and put on your own dress, I will finish 
getting these things ready. I will see Ralph before 
we sit down, and tell him all about it.” 

Dora made no movement toward the stairs. 

“I knew it was the doctor,” she said, “for I went 
123 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


out and looked around the corner of the house, and 
saw his horse. But I do not see why we should give 
up our trick. Let us play it on the doctor as well as 
on your brother.” 

Miriam stood silent a few moments. 

“I do not know how that would do,” she said. 
“That is a very different thing. Besides, I do not 
believe Ralph would let you come to the table. You 
ought to have seen how angry he was when I told him 
the new cook must eat with us.” 

“Oh, that was splendid !” cried Dora. “I will not 
come to the table. That will make it all the funnier 
when we tell him. I can eat my supper anywhere, 
and I will go up-stairs and wait on you, which will be 
better sport than sitting down at the table with you.” 

“But I do not like that,” said Miriam. “I will not 
have you go without your supper until we have fin- 
ished.” 

“My dear Miriam ! ” exclaimed Dora, “what is a 
supper in comparison with such a jolly bit of fun 
as this? Let me go on as the new cook. Now we 
must hurry and get these things on the table. It will 
make things a great deal easier for me if they can eat 
before it is time to light the lamps.” 

When Miriam went to call the gentlemen to supper, 
the doctor said to her : 

“Your brother has told me that you have a new 
servant, and that she is so preposterous as to wish to 
take her meals with you, but that he does not intend 
to allow it. Now, I say to you, as I said to him, that 
if she expected to sit at the table before I came, she 
must do it now. I am used to that sort of thing, and 
do not mind it a bit. In the families of the farmers 


124 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


about here, with whom I often take a meal, it is the 
custom for the daughter of the family to cook, to wait 
on the table, and then sit down with whomever may 
be there, kings or cobblers. I beg that you will not 
let my coming make trouble in your household.” 

Miriam looked at her brother. 

“ All right,” said Ralph, with a smile. “If the doctor 
does not mind, I shall not. And now, do let us have 
something to eat.” 


125 


CHAPTER XIII 


DORA’S NEW MIND 

When Ralph Haverley made up his mind to agree to 
anything, he did it with his whole soul, and if he had 
had any previous prejudices against it, he dismissed 
them. So, as he sat at supper with the doctor and his 
sister, he was very much amused at being waited upon 
by a woman in a pink sunbonnet. That she should 
wear such a head-covering in the house was funny 
enough in itself, but the rest of her dress was also ex- 
tremely odd, and she kept the front of her dark pro- 
jecting bonnet turned downward or away, as if she 
had never served gentlemen before, and was very much 
overpowered by bashfulness. But, for all that, she 
waited very well, and with a light quickness of move- 
ment unusual in a servant. 

“I am afraid, doctor,” said Miriam, when the pink 
figure had gone down-stairs to replenish the plate of 
rolls, “that you will miss your dinner. I have heard 
that you have a most wonderful cook.” 

“She is, indeed, a mistress of her art,” replied the 
doctor. “But you do very well here, I am sure. That 
new cook of yours beats Phoebe utterly. I know 
Phoebe’s cooking.” 


126 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“But you must not give her all the credit/’ ex- 
claimed Miriam. “I made that bread, although she 
shaped it into rolls, and I helped with the beefsteak, 
the potatoes, and the coffee.” 

“Which latter,” said Ralph, “is as strong as if six 
or seven women had made it, although it is very 
good.” 

The meal went on until the two hungry men were 
satisfied, Miriam being so absorbed in Dora’s skilful 
management of herself that she scarcely thought about 
eating. There was a place for the woman in pink, if 
she chose to take it, but she evidently did not wish to 
sit down. Whenever she was not occupied in waiting 
upon those at the table, she bethought herself of some 
errand in the kitchen. 

“Well,” said Ralph, “those rolls are made up so 
prettily, and look so tempting, that I wish I had not 
finished my supper.” 

“You are right,” said the doctor, “they are aesthetic 
enough for La Fleur.” Then, pushing back his chair 
a little, he looked steadfastly, with a slight smile on 
his face, at the figure, with bowed sunbonnet, which 
was standing on the other side of the table. 

“Well, young woman,” he said, “how is your mind 
by this time ? ” 

For a moment there was silence, and then from out 
of the sunbonnet there came, clearly and distinctly, 
the words : 

“That is very well. How is your kitten? ” 

At this interchange of remarks, Ralph sat up straight 
in his chair, amazement in his countenance, while 
Miriam, ready to burst into a scream of laughter, waited 
convulsively to see what would happen next. 

127 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Turning suddenly toward Ralph, Dora tore off her 
sunbonnet and dashed it to the floor. Standing there 
with her dishevelled hair, her flushed cheeks, her 
sparkling eyes, and her quaint gown, Ralph thought 
her the most beautiful creature he had ever gazed 
upon. 

“How do you do, Mr. Haverley?” said Dora, ad- 
vancing and extending her hand. “I know you are 
not willing to eat with cooks, but I do not believe you 
will object to shaking hands with one, now and then.” 

Ralph arose and took her hand, but she gave him 
no opportunity to say anything. 

“Your sister and I got up this little bit of deception 
for you, Mr. Haverley,” she continued, “and we in- 
tended to carry it on a good deal further, but that 
gentleman has spoiled it all, and I want you to know 
that I stopped here to see your sister, and finding she 
had not a soul to help her, I would not leave her in 
such a plight, and we had a royal good time getting 
the supper, and were going to do ever so many more 
things. I should like to know, doctor, how you knew 
me. I am sure I did not look a bit like myself.” 

“You did not look like yourself, but you walked 
like yourself,” replied Dr. Tolbridge. “I watched you 
when you first tried to toddle alone, and I have seen 
you nearly every day since, and I know your way of 
stepping about as well as I know anything. But I 
must really apologize for having spoiled the fun. I 
discovered you, Dora, before we had half finished sup- 
per, but I thought the trick was being played on me 
alone. I had no idea that Mr. Haverley thought you 
were the new cook.” 

“I certainly did think so,” cried Ralph, “and, what 
128 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

is more, I intended to discharge you to-morrow mor- 
ing” 

There was a lively time for a few minutes, after 
which Dora explained what had been said about her 
mind and a kitten. 

“He was just twitting me with having once changed 
my mind— every one does that,” she said. “ And then 
I gave him a kitten. That is all. And now, before I 
change my dress, I will go and get some wood for the 
kitchen fire. I think you said, Mr. Haverley, that the 
woodhouse was not far away.” 

“Wood ! ” cried Ralph. “Don’t you think of it ! ” 

Miriam burst into a laugh. 

“Oh, you ought to have heard the lord of the manor 
declare that he would not carry fuel for the cook ! ” she 
cried. 

Ralph joined in the laugh that rose against him, but 
insisted that Dora should not change her dress. 

“You could not wear anything more becoming,” he 
said, “and you do not know how much I want to treat 
the new cook as one of the family.” 

“I will wear whatever the lord of the manor 
chooses,” said Dora, demurely, and was about to make 
reference to his concluding remark, but checked herself. 

When the two girls joined the gentlemen on the 
porch, which they did with much promptness, having 
delegated the greater part of their household duties 
to Mike, who could take a hand at almost any kind of 
work, Dr. Tolbridge announced that he must proceed 
to visit his patient. 

“Are you coming back this way, doctor?” asked 
Dora. “Because, if you are, would it be too much 
trouble for you to look for our buggy on the side of 
129 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


the road, and to bring back the cushions and the whip 
with you ? Herbert may think that in this part of the 
country the people are so honest that they would not 
steal anything out of a deserted buggy, but I do not 
believe it is safe to put too much trust in people.” 

“A fine, practicable mind,” said the doctor,— “ cuts 
clean and sharp. I will bring the cushions and the 
whip, if they have not been stolen before I reach them. 
How I will go to the barn and get my horse. We 
need not disturb the industrious Mike.” 

“If you are going to the barn, doctor,” cried Miriam, 
seizing her hat, “I will go with you and put the mos- 
quito-net over my calf, which I entirely forgot to do. 
Perhaps, if it is light enough, you will look at its eye.” 

The doctor laughed, and the two went off together, 
leaving Dora and Ralph on the piazza. 

Dora could not help thinking of herself as a very 
lucky girl. When she had started that afternoon to 
make a little visit at Cobhurst, she had had no imagi- 
nable reason to suppose that in the course of a very 
few hours she would be sitting alone with Mr. Haver- 
ley in the early moonlight, without even his sister with 
them. She had expected to see Ralph and to have a 
chat with him, but she had counted on Miriam’s pres- 
ence as a matter of course. So this tete-a-tete in the 
quiet beauty of the night was as delightful as it was 
unanticipated. More than that, it was an opportunity 
that ought not to be disregarded. 

The new mind of Miss Dora Bannister was clear and 
quick in its perceptions, and prompt and independent 
in action. It not only showed what she wanted, but 
indicated pretty clearly how she might get it. Since 
she had been making use of this fresh intellect, she had 
130 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


been impressed very strongly by the belief that in the 
matter of matrimonial alliance a girl should not neg- 
lect her interest by depending too much upon the 
option of other people. Her own right of option she 
looked upon as a sacred right, and one that it was her 
duty to herself to exercise, and that promptly. She 
had just come from the seaside, where she had met 
some earnest young men, one or two of whom she ex- 
pected to see shortly at Thorbury. Also Mr. Ames, 
their young rector, was a very persevering person, and 
a great friend of her brother. 

Of course, it behooved her to act with tact, but, for 
all that, she must be prompt. It was easy to see that 
Ralph Haverley could not be expected to go very soon 
into the society of Thorbury, to visit ladies there, and 
as she wanted him to learn to know her as rapidly as 
possible, she resolved to give him every opportunity. 

Miriam was gone a long time, because, when she 
reached the barn, the calf was not to be found where 
she had left it, and she had been obliged to go for Mike 
and a lantern. After anxious search, the little fellow 
had been found reclining under an apple-tree, having 
gained sufficient strength from the ministrations of its 
fair attendants to go through the open stable door and 
to find out what sort of a world it had been born into. 
It required time to get the truant back, secure it in 
its stall, and make all the arrangements for its comfort 
which Miriam thought necessary. Therefore, before 
she returned to the piazza, Miss Bannister and Ralph 
had had a long conversation, in which the latter had 
learned a great deal about the disposition and tastes 
of his fair companion, and had been much interested 
in what he learned. 


131 


CHAPTER XIY 


GOOD NIGHT 

When the three young people had been sitting for 
half an hour on the wide piazza of Cobhurst, enjoying 
the moonlight effects and waiting for the return of Dr. 
Tolbridge, Miriam, who was reclining in a steamer- 
chair, ceased making remarks, but very soon after she 
became silent she was heard again, not speaking, how- 
ever, but breathing audibly and with great regularity. 
Ralph and Dora turned toward her and smiled. 

“Poor little thing,” said the latter, in a low voice. 
“She must be tired out.” 

“Yes,” said Ralph, also speaking in an undertone. 
“She was up very early this morning, and has been at 
some sort of work ever since. I do not intend that 
this shall happen again. You must excuse her, Miss 
Bannister. She is a girl yet, you know.” 

“And a sweet one, too,” said Dora, “with a perfect 
right to go to sleep if she chooses. I should be 
ashamed of myself if I felt in the least degree offended. 
Do not let us disturb her until the doctor comes. The 
nap will do her good.” 

“Suppose, then,” said Ralph, “that we take a little 
132 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


turn in the moonlight. Then we need not trouble 
ourselves to lower our voices.” 

“That will be very well,” said Dora, “but I am 
afraid she may take cold, although the night air is so 
soft. I think I saw a lap-robe on a table in the hall. 
I will spread that over her.” 

Ralph whispered that he would get the robe, but 
motioning him back, and having tiptoed into the hall 
and back again, Dora laid the light covering over the 
sleeping girl so gently that the regular breathing was 
not in the least interrupted. Then they both went 
quietly down the steps and out upon the lawn. 

“She is such a dear girl,” said Dora, as they slowly 
moved away, “and although we only met to-day, I am 
really growing very fond of her, and I like her the 
better because there is still so much of the child left in 
her. Do not you like her the better for that, Mr. 
Haverley?” 

Ralph did agree most heartily, and it made him 
happy to agree on any subject with a girl who was 
even more beautiful by moonlight than by day, who 
was so kind, and tended to his sister, and whose gener- 
ous disposition could overlook little breaches of eti- 
quette when there was reason to do so. 

As they walked backward and forward, not very far 
away from the piazza, and sometimes stopping to 
admire bits of the silver-tinted landscape, Dora, with 
most interesting deftness, gave Ralph further oppor- 
tunity of knowing her. With his sister as a suggesting 
subject, she talked about herself. She told him how 
she, too, had lost her parents early in life, and had 
been obliged to be a very independent girl, for her 
stepmother, although just as good as she could be, was 
133 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


not a person on whom she could rely very much. As 
for her brother, the dearest man on earth, she had al- 
ways felt that she was more capable of taking care of 
him— at least, in all matters in home life— than he 
of her. 

“But I have been very happy,” she went on to say, 
“for I am so fond of country life, and everything that 
belongs to it, that the more I have to do with it, the 
better I like it, and I really begrudge the time that I 
spend in the city. You do not know with what pleas- 
ure I look forward to helping Miriam get breakfast 
to-morrow morning. I consider it a positive lark. 
By the way, Mr. Haverley, do you like rolled omelets % ” 

Ralph declared that he liked everything that was 
good, and had no doubt that rolled omelets were 
delicious. 

“Then I shall make some,” said Dora, “for I know 
how to do it. And I think you said, Mr. Haverley, 
that the coffee to-night was too strong.” 

“A little so, perhaps,” said Ralph, “but it was ex- 
cellent.” 

“Oh, it shall be better in the morning. I am sure it 
will be well for one of us to do one thing, and the 
other another. I will make the coffee.” 

“You are wonderfully kind to do anything at all,” 
said Ralph, and as he spoke he heard the clock in the 
house strike ten. It was agreeable in the highest de- 
gree to walk in the moonlight with this charming girl, 
but he felt that it was getting late. It was long past 
Miriam’s bedtime, and he wondered why the doctor 
did not come. 

Dora perceived the perturbation of his mind. She 
knew that he thought it was time for the little party 
134 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


to break up, but did not like to suggest it. She knew 
that the natural and proper thing for her to do was to 
wake up Miriam, and that the two should bid Ralph 
good night, and leave him to sit up and wait for the 
doctor as long as he felt himself called upon to do so. 
But she was perfectly contented with the present cir- 
cumstances, and did not wish to change them just yet. 
It was a pleasure to her to walk by this tall, broad- 
shouldered young fellow, who was so handsome and so 
strong, and in so many ways the sort of man she liked, 
and to let him know, not so much by her words as by 
the incited action of his own intelligence, that she was 
fond of the things he was fond of, and that she loved 
the life he led. 

As they still walked and talked, the thought came 
to Dora, and it was a very pleasing one, that she might 
act another part with this young gentleman. She had 
played the cook. Now for a while she would play the 
mistress, and she knew she could do it so gently and 
so wisely that he would like it without perceiving it. 
She turned away her face for a moment. She felt 
that her pleasure in acting the part of mistress of Cob- 
hurst, even for a little time, was flushing it. 

“ Suppose,” she said, “we walk down to the road, 
and if we see or hear the doctor coming, we can wait 
there and save him the trouble of driving in.” 

They went out of the Cobhurst gateway, but along 
the moonlighted highway they saw no approaching 
spot, nor could they hear the sound of wheels. 

“I really think, Mr. Haverley,” said Dora, turning 
toward the house, “that I ought to go and arouse 
Miriam, and then we will retire. It is a positive 
shame to keep her out of her bed any longer.” 

135 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


This suggestion much relieved Ralph, and they 
walked rapidly to the porch. But when they reached 
it they found an empty steamer- chair, and no Miriam 
anywhere. They looked at each other in much sur- 
prise, and entering the house, they looked in several 
of the rooms on the lower floor. Ralph was about to 
call out for his sister, but Dora quickly touched him 
on the arm. 

“Hush,” she said, smiling, “do not call her. Do you 
see that lap-robe on the table ? I will tell you exactly 
what has happened. While we were down at the road 
she awoke, at least enough to know that she ought to 
go to bed, and I really believe that she was not suffi- 
ciently awake to remember that I am here, and that 
she simply got up, brought the robe in with her, and 
went to her room. Isn’t it funny ? ” 

Ralph was quite sure that Dora’s deductions were 
correct, for when Miriam happened to drop asleep in 
a chair in the evening, it was her habit, when aroused, 
to get up and go to bed, too sleepy to think about any- 
thing else. But he did not think it was funny now. 
He was mortified that Miss Bannister should have 
been treated with such apparent disrespect, and he 
began to apologize for his sister. 

“How, please stop, Mr. Haverley,” interrupted 
Dora. “I am so glad to have her act so freely and 
unconventionally with me, as if we had always been 
friends. It makes me feel almost as if we had known 
each other always, and it does not make the slightest 
difference to me. Miriam wanted to give me another 
room, but I implored her to let me sleep with her in 
that splendid high-posted bedstead, and so all that I 
have to do is to slip up to her room, and, if I can 
136 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


possibly help it, I shall not waken her. In the morning 
I do not believe she will remember a thing about hav- 
ing gone to bed without me. So good night, Mr. 
Haverley. I am going to be up very early, and you 
shall see what a breakfast the new cook will give you. 
I will light this candle, for no doubt poor Miriam 
has put out her lamp, if she did not depend entirely 
on the moonlight. By the way, Mr. Haverley,” she 
said, turning toward him, “is there anything I can do 
to help you in shutting up the house? You know, I 
am maid of all work as well as cook. Perhaps I should 
go down and see if the kitchen fire is safe.” 

“Oh, no, no ! ” exclaimed Ralph. “I attend to all 
those things — at least, when we have no servant.” 

“But doesn’t Miriam help you? ” asked Dora, taking 
up the candle which she had lighted. 

“No,” said he. “Miriam generally bids me good 
night and goes up-stairs an hour before I do.” 

“Very well,” said Dora. “I will say only one more 
thing, and that is that if I were the lord of the manor, 
who had been working in the hay-field all day, I would 
not sit up very long, waiting for a wandering doctor.” 

Ralph laughed, and as she approached the door of 
the stairway, he opened it for her. 

“Suppose,” she said, stopping for a moment in the 
doorway, and shielding the flame of the candle from a 
current of air with a little hand so beautifully lighted 
that for a moment it attracted Ralph’s eyes from 
its owner’s face, “you wait here for a minute, and 
I will go up and see if she is really safe in her own 
room. I am sure you will be better satisfied if you 
know that.” 

Ralph looked his thanks, and softly, but quickly, 
137 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


she went up the stairs. At a little landing she 
stopped. 

“Do you know/’ she whispered, looking back, with 
the candle throwing her head and hair into the pret- 
tiest lights and shadows, “I think this stairway is 
lovely.” And then she went on and disappeared. 

In a few minutes she leaned over the upper part of 
the banisters and softly spoke to him. 

“She is sleeping as sweetly and as quietly as the 
dearest of angels. I do not believe I shall disturb her 
in the least. Good night, Mr. Haverley.” And with 
her face thrown into a new light,— this time by the 
hall lamp below,— she smiled ever so sweetly, and then 
drew back her head. 

In half a minute it reappeared. She was right : he 
was still looking up. 

“I forgot to say,” she whispered, “that all the win- 
dows in Miriam’s room are open. Do you think she 
was too sleepy to notice that, or is she accustomed to 
so much night air f ” 

“I really do not know,” said Ralph, in reply. 

“Very well, then,” said Dora. “I will attend to all 
that in my own way. Good night again, Mr. Haver- 
ley.” And with a little nod and a smile, she withdrew 
her face from his view. 

If she had come back within the next minute, she 
would have found him still looking up. She felt quite 
sure of this, but she could think of no good reason for 
another reappearance. 

Ralph lighted a pipe and sat down on the piazza. 
He looked steadily in front of him, but he saw no 
grass, no trees, no moonlighted landscape, no sky of 
summer night. He saw only the face of a young girl, 
138 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

leaning over and looking down at him from the top 
of a stairway. It was the face of a girl who was so 
gentle, so thoughtful for others, so quick to perceive, 
so quick to do, who was so fond of his sister, and so 
beautiful. He sat and thought of the wondrous good 
fortune that had brought this girl beneath his roof, 
and had given him these charming hours with her. 

When his pipe was out, he arose, declared to 
himself that, no matter what the doctor might think 
of it, he would not wait another minute for him, and 
went to bed, his mind very busy with the anticipa- 
tion of the charming hours which were to come on the 
morrow. 


139 


CHAPTER XV 


MISS PANNEY IS AROUSED TO HELP AND HINDER 

When Dr. Tolbridge returned from the visit to the 
patient who lived beyond Cobhurst, he did not drive 
into the latter place, for seeing Mike by the gate near 
the barn, he gave the cushions and whip to him and 
went on. 

As it was yet early in the evening, and bright moon- 
light, he concluded to go around by the Wittons’. It 
was not far out of his way, and he wanted to see Miss 
Panney. What he wanted to say to the old lady was 
not exactly evident to his own mind, but, in a general 
way, he wished her to know that Dora was at Cobhurst. 

Dora was a great favorite with the doctor. He had 
known her all her life, and considered that he knew 
not only her good points, of which there were many, 
but also those that were not altogether desirable, and 
of which, he believed, there were few. One of the 
latter was her disposition to sometimes do as she 
pleased, without reference to tradition or ordinary 
custom. He had seen her acting the part of cook, dis- 
guised by a pink sunbonnet and an old-fashioned calico 
gown. And what pranks she and the Haverleys— two 
estimable young people, but also lively and indepen- 
dent-might play, no one could tell. The duration of 
140 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Dora’s visit would depend on her brother Herbert, and 
he was a man of business, whose time was not at all at 
his own disposal, and so, the doctor thought, it would 
not be a bad thing if Miss Panney would call at Cob- 
hurst the next day, and see what those three young- 
sters were about. 

The Wittons had gone to bed, but Miss Panney was 
in the parlor, reading. “ Early to bed and early to 
rise ” was not one of her rules. 

“Well, really ! ” she exclaimed, as she rose to greet 
her visitor, “this is amazing. How many years has it 
been since you came to see me without being sent for ? ” 

“I do not keep account of years,” said the doctor, 
“and if I choose to stop in and have a chat with you, 
I shall do it without reference to precedent. This is 
a purely social call, and I shall not even ask you how 
you are.” 

“I beg you will not,” said the old lady, “and that 
will give me a good reason for sending for you when 
you ought to be informed on that point.” 

“This is not my first social call this evening,” said 
he. “I took supper at Cobhurst, where Dora Bannis- 
ter waited on the table.” 

“What do you mean? ” exclaimed Miss Panney, and 
then the doctor told his tale. As the old lady listened, 
her spirits rose higher and higher. What extraordi- 
nary good luck ! She had never planned a match that 
moved with such smoothness, such celerity, such as- 
tonishing directness, as this. She did not look upon 
Dora’s disregard of tradition and ordinary custom as 
an undesirable point in her character. She liked that 
sort of thing. It was one of the points in her own 
character. 


141 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“I wish I could have seen her ! ” she exclaimed. 
“She must have been charming.’’ 

“Don’t you think there is danger that she may be 
too charming t ” the doctor asked. 

“No, I don’t,” promptly answered Miss Panney. 

The doctor looked at her in some surprise. 

“We should remember,” said he, “that Dora is a 
girl of wealth— that one third of the Bannister estate 
belongs to her, besides the sixty thousand dollars that 
came to her from her mother.” 

“That does not hurt her,” said Miss Panney. 

“And Ralph Haverley was a poor young man when 
he came here, and Cobhurst will probably make him 
a good deal poorer.” 

“I do not doubt it,” said Miss Panney. 

“Do you believe,” said the doctor, after a moment’s 
pause, “that it is wise or right in a girl like Dora Ban- 
nister, accustomed to fine living, good society, and an 
atmosphere of opulence, to allow a poor man like Ralph 
Haverley to fall in love with her ? And he will do it, 
just as sure as the world turns round.” 

“Well, let him do it,” replied the old lady. “I did 
not intend to give my opinion on this subject, because, 
as you know, I am not fond of obtruding my ideas into 
other people’s affairs, but I will say now that Dora 
Bannister will have to travel a long distance before she 
finds a better man for a husband than Ralph Haverley, 
or a better estate on which to spend her money than 
Cobhurst. I believe that money that is made in a 
neighborhood like this ought to be spent here, and 
Thomas Bannister’s money could not be better spent 
than in making Cobhurst the fine estate it used to be. 
I do not believe in a girl like Dora going off and mar- 
142 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


rying some city fellow, and perhaps spending the rest 
of her life at the watering-places and Paris. I want 
her here. Don’t you ? ” 

“ I certainly do ; but you forget Mr. Ames.” 

“I do, and I intend to forget him,” she replied, 
“and so does Dora.” 

The doctor shook his head. “I do not like it,” he 
said. “Young Haverley may be all very well,— I have 
a high opinion of him already,— but he is not the man 
for Dora. If he had any money at all, it would be 
different, but he has not. Now, she would not be con- 
tent to live at Cobhurst as it is, and he ought not to 
be content to have her do everything to make it what 
she would have it.” 

“Doctor,” said Miss Panney, “if there is anything 
about all this in your medicine-books, perhaps you 
know more than I do, and you can go on and talk. 
But you know there is not, and you know, too, that I 
was a very sensible, middle-aged woman when you 
were toddling around in frocks and running against 
people. I believe you are trying to run against some- 
body now. Who is it! ” 

“Well,” said the doctor, “if it is anybody, it is young 
Haverley.” 

Miss Panney smiled. “You may think so,” she said, 
“but I want you to know that you are also running 
against me, and I say to you, confidentially, and with 
as much trust in you as I used to have that you would 
not tell who it was who spread your bread with for- 
bidden jam, that I have planned a match between 
these two, and if they marry, I intend to make pe- 
cuniary matters more nearly even between them than 
they are now.” 


143 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


The doctor looked at her earnestly. 

“Do yon suppose/’ said he, “that he would take 
money from you? ” 

“What I should do for him/’ she answered, “could 
not be prevented by him or any one else.” 

“But there is no reason,” urged the other. 

The old lady smiled, took off her glasses, wiped them 
with her handkerchief, and put them on again. 

“There is so little in medicine-books,” she said. 
“His grandfather was my cousin.” 

“The one — ? ” asked the startled doctor. 

“Yes, that very one,” she answered quickly, “but 
he does not know it. And now we will drop the sub- 
ject. I will try to get to Cobhurst to-morrow before 
Dora leaves, and I will see if I cannot help matters 
along a little.” 

The doctor laughed. “I was going to ask you to 
interfere with matters.” 

“Well, don’t,” she said. “And now tell me about 
your cook. Is she as good as ever ? ” 

“As good?” said the doctor. “She is better. The 
more she learns about our tastes, the more perfectly 
she gratifies them. Mrs. Tolbridge and I look upon 
her as a household blessing, for she gives us three 
perfect meals a day, and would give us more if we 
wanted them. The butcher reverences her, for she 
knows more about meat and how to cut it than he does. 
Our man and our maid either tremble at her nod or 
regard her with the deepest affection, for I am told 
that they spend a great deal of their time helping 
her, when they should be attending to their own 
duties. She has, in fact, become so necessary to our 
144 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


domestic felicity, and, I may say, to our health, that 
I do not know what will become of us if we lose 
her.” 

“Is there any chance of that?” eagerly asked the 
old lady. 

“I fear there is,” was the answer. 

Miss Panney sprang to her feet, her eyes flashing. 

“Now look here, Dr. Tolbridge,” she said, “don’t 
tell me that that woman is going to leave you because 
she wants higher wages and yon will not pay them. 
I beg you to remember that I got you that woman. 
I saw she was what you needed, and I worked mat- 
ters so that she came to you. She has proved to be 
everything that I expected. You are looking better 
now than I have seen yon look for five years. You 
have been eating food that yon like, and food that 
agrees with you, and a chance to do that comes to 
very few people in your circumstances. There is no 
way in which you could spend your money better 
than—” 

The doctor raised his hand deprecatingly. 

“There is no question of money,” he said. “ She has 
not asked for higher wages, and if she had, I should 
pay anything in reason. The trouble is more serious. 
You may remember that when she first came to this 
country she lived with the Dranes, and she left them 
because they could no longer afford to employ her. 
She has the greatest regard for that family, and has 
lately heard that they are becoming poorer and poorer. 
There are only two of them,— mother and daughter, 
— and, on account of some sort of unwise investment, 
they are getting into a pretty bad way. I used to 
145 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

know Captain Drane, and was slightly acquainted with 
his family. I heard of their misfortune through a 
friend in Pennsylvania, and as I knew that La Fleur 
took such an interest in the family, I mentioned it to 
her. The result was disastrous. She has been in a 
doleful mood ever since, and yesterday assured Mrs. 
Tolbridge that if it should prove that Mrs. Drane and 
her daughter, who had been so good to her, had be- 
come so poor that they could not afford to employ a 
servant, she must leave us and go to them. She would 
ask no wages and would take no denial. She would 
stay with them and serve them, for the love she bore 
them, as long as they needed her. I know she is in 
earnest, for she immediately wrote to Mrs. Drane, and 
asked me to put the letter in the post-office. And, 
by the way, she writes a great deal better hand than 
I do.” 

Miss Panney, who had reseated herself, gazed ear- 
nestly at the floor. 

“Doctor,” she said, “this is very serious. I have not 
yet met La Fleur, but I very much want to. I am con- 
vinced that she is a woman of character, and that when 
she says she intends to do a thing, she will do it— 
that is, unless somebody else of character, and of 
pretty strong character, too, gets in her way. I do 
not know what advice to give you just now, but she 
must not leave you. That must be considered as set- 
tled. I am coming to your house to-morrow after- 
noon, and please ask Mrs. Tolbridge to be at home. 
We shall then see what is to be done.” 

“There is nothing to be done,” said the doctor, 
rising. “We cannot improve the circumstances of 
the Dranes, and we cannot prevent La Fleur from 
146 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

going to them if her feelings prompt her to do 
it.” 

“ Stuff ! ” said the old lady. u There is always some- 
thing to be done. The trouble is, there is not always 
some one to do it. But, fortunately for some of my 
friends, I am alive yet.” 


147 


CHAPTER XVI 


“keep her to help you” 

It was about ten o’clock the next morning when Miss 
Panney drove over to Cobhurst in her phaeton. She 
did not go up to the house, but tied her roan mare 
behind a clump of locust-trees and bushes, where the 
animal might stand in peace and shade. Then she 
walked around the house, and hearing the clatter of 
crockery in the basement, she looked down through a 
kitchen window, and saw Mike washing the breakfast- 
dishes. 

Going on toward the back of the house, she heard 
voices and laughter over in the garden. Behind a 
tangled mass of raspberries, she saw a pink sunbonnet 
and a straw hat with daisies in it. She knew then 
that Dora and Miriam were picking berries, and then 
her eyes and ears began to search for Ralph. 

She went up on the back piazza, and looked over 
toward the barn, which appeared to be closed, and 
around and about the house, but saw nothing of the 
young man. But she would wait. It was scarcely 
likely that he was at work in the fields by himself. 
He would probably appear soon, and, if possible, she 
wanted to speak to him before she saw any one else. 

148 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


She went into the house, and took a seat in the hall, 
where, through a narrow window by the side of the 
door, she had a good view of the garden and the 
grounds at the back, and could also command the front 
entrance of the house. 

Miss Panney had been seated but a very few min- 
utes when the two girls emerged from the bosky intri- 
cacies of the garden. 

“Upon my word ! ” exclaimed the old lady, “she 
has got on Judith Pacewalk’s teaberry gown. I could 
never forget that ! ” 

At this moment there was a clatter of hoofs and a 
rattle of wheels, and a brown horse, drawing a very 
loosejointed wagon, with Ralph Haverley, in a broad 
hat and light tennis jacket, driving, dashed up to the 
back door and stopped with a jerk. 

“Back so soon ! ” cried Miriam. “See what a lot of 
raspberries we have picked. I will take them into 
the house, and then come out and get the things you 
have brought.” 

As Miriam went around toward the kitchen, Ralph 
sprang to the ground, and Dora approached him. 
Miss Panney could see her face under the sunbonnet. 
It was suffused with the light of a smiling, beaming 
welcome. 

“You did go quickly, didn’t you? ” she said. “You 
must be a good driver.” 

“I didn’t want to lose any time,” answered Ralph, 
“and I made Mrs. Browning step along lively. As it 
was, I was afraid that your brother might arrive be- 
fore I got back, and that I might find you were gone.” 

“It was a pity,” said Dora, “that you troubled your- 
self to hurry back. You may have wanted to do other 
149 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


things in Thorbury, and if Herbert missed seeing you 
to-day he would have plenty of other opportunities.” 

Ealph laughed. “I should like to meet your bro- 
ther / 7 he said, “but I am bound to say that I was 
thinking more of the new cook. I did not want her 
to leave before I got back . 77 

Dora raised her sunbonnet toward him. Miriam 7 s 
steps were heard approaching. 

“You might have felt sure / 7 she said, “that she 
would not have gone without seeing you again. You 
have been so kind and good to her that she would not 
think of doing that . 77 Then, as Miriam was very near, 
she approached the wagon. “Did you get the snow- 
flake flour, as I told you f 77 she asked. “Yes, I see you 
did, and I am glad you listened to my advice, and 
bought only a bag of it, for you know you may not 
like it . 77 

“If it is the flour you use, I know we shall like it / 7 
said Ealph. “But still, I am bound to follow your 
advice . 77 

“You would better follow me now / 7 said Miriam, 
who had taken some parcels from the wagon, “and 
bring that bag into the pantry. I do not like Mike 
to come into our part of the house with his boots . 77 

Ealph shouldered the bag, and Dora stepped up to 
him. 

“I will stay with the horse until you come out 
again / 7 she said, not speaking very loudly. 

Miss Panney, who had heard all that had been said, 
smiled, and her black eyes twinkled. “Truly / 7 she 
said to herself, “for so short an acquaintance, this is 
getting on wonderfully . 77 

Miriam, her arms full of parcels, and her mind full 
150 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


of household economy, walked rapidly by Miss Panney 
without seeing her at all, and, entering the dining- 
room, passed through it into the pantry. But when 
Ralph appeared in the open doorway, the old lady 
rose and confronted him, her finger on her lip. 

“I have just popped in to make a little call on your 
sister,” she whispered, “but I saw she was pretty well 
loaded as she passed, and I did not wish to embarrass 
her. I do not mind embarrassing you. Don’t put 
down the bag, I beg. I shall step into the drawing- 
room, and you can say I am there. By the way, who 
is that young woman standing by the horse ? ” 

“It is Miss Bannister,” answered Ralph, his face 
unreasonably flushing as he spoke. “She is visiting 
Miriam and helping her.” 

When Miss Panney wished to influence a person in 
favor of or against another person, she was accustomed 
to go about the business in a very circumspect way, 
and to accommodate the matter and the manner of her 
remarks to the disposition of the person addressed, and 
to the occasion. She wished very much to influence 
Ralph in favor of Miss Bannister, and if she had had 
the opportunity of a conversation with him, she knew 
she could have done this in a very easy and natural 
way. But there was no time for conversation now, and 
she might not again have the chance of seeing him 
alone, so she adopted a very different course, and with 
as much readiness and quickness as Daniel Boone would 
have put a rifle -ball into the head of an Indian the 
moment he saw it protrude from behind a tree, so did 
Miss Panney concentrate all she had to say into one 
shot, and deliver it quickly. 

“Help Miriam, eh?” she whispered. “Take my 
151 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


advice, my boy, and keep her to help you.” And, 
without another word, she proceeded to the drawing- 
room, where she seated herself in the most comfortable 
chair. 

Ralph stood still a minute, with the bag on his shoul- 
der. He scarcely understood what had been said to 
him, but the words had been so well aimed, and sent 
with such force, that before he reached Miriam and the 
pantry his mind was illumined by the shining appari- 
tion of Dora as his partner and helpmate. Two min- 
utes before there had been no such apparition. It is 
true that his mind had been filled with misty, cloud- 
like sensations entirely new to it, but the words of the 
old lady had now condensed them into form. 

When Miriam was informed of the visitor in the 
drawing-room, she frowned a little, and made up a 
queer face, and then, taking off her long apron, went 
to perform her duty as lady of the house. 

Ralph returned to Dora, and as he looked at the girl 
who was patting the neck of the brown mare, she 
seemed to have changed, not because she was different 
from what she had been a few minutes before, but be- 
cause he looked upon her differently. As he ap- 
proached, every word that she had spoken to him 
that day crowded into his memory. The last thing 
she had said was that she would wait until he re- 
turned to her, and here she was, waiting. When he 
spoke, his manner had lost the free-heartedness of 
a little while before. There was a slight diffidence 
in it. 

Hearing that Miss Panney was in the house, Dora 
turned her bonnet downward, and she also frowned a 
little. 


152 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“Why should that old person come in this very 
morning ?” she thought. 

But in an instant the front of the bonnet was raised 
toward Ralph, and upon the young face under it there 
was not a shadow of dissatisfaction. 

“Of course, I must go in and see her,” she said, and 
then, speaking as if Ralph were one on whom she had 
always been accustomed to rely for counsel : “Do you 
think I need go up-stairs and change my dress? If 
this is good enough for you and Miriam, isn’t it good 
enough for Miss Panney ? ” 

As Ralph gazed into the blue eyes that were raised 
to his, it was impossible for him to think of anything 
for which their owner was not good enough. This 
impression upon him was so strong that he said, with 
blurting awkwardness, that she looked charming as 
she was, and needed not the slightest change. The 
value of this impulsive remark was fully appreciated 
by Dora, but she gave no sign of it, and simply said 
that if he were suited, she was. 

They were moving toward the house when Dora sud- 
denly laid her hand upon his arm. 

“You have forgotten the horse, Mr. Ralph,” she 
said. 

The touch and the name by which she called him 
for the first time made the young man forget, for an 
instant, everything in the world but the girl who had 
touched and spoken. 

“Have you anything to tie her with? Oh, yes, 
there is a chain on that post.” 

As Ralph turned the horse toward the hitching-post, 
Dora ran before him, and stood ready with the chain 
in her hand. 


153 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“Oh, no,” she said, as he motioned to take it from 
her, “let me hook it on her bridle. Don’t you want 
to let me help you at all ? ” 

As, side by side, Dora and Ralph entered the draw- 
ing-room, Miss Panney declared in her soul that they 
looked like an engaged couple coming to ask for her 
blessing. And when Dora saluted her with a kiss, and, 
drawing up a stool, took a seat at her feet, the old lady 
gave her her blessing, though not audibly. 

As Miss Panney was in a high good humor, she 
wanted everybody else to be so, and in a few minutes 
even the sedate Miriam was chatting freely and pleas- 
antly. 

“And so that graceless Phoebe has left you,” said the 
old lady. “To board the minister, indeed ! I will see 
that minister, and give him a text for a sermon. But 
you cannot keep up this sort of thing, my young 
friends, not even with Dora’s help.” And she stroked 
the soft hair of Miss Bannister, from which the sun- 
bonnet had been removed. 

“I will see Mike before I go, and send him for Molly 
Tooney. Molly is a good enough woman, and if I send 
for her, she will come to you until you have suited 
yourselves with servants. And now, my dear child, 
where did you find that gay dress ? Up-stairs in some 
old trunk, I suppose. Stand over there and let me 
look at you. It is a good forty years since I have seen 
that gown. Do you know to whom it used to belong ? 
But of course you do not. It was Judith Pace walk’s 
teaberry gown.” 

“And who was Judith Pacewalk?” asked Dora, 
“and why was it teaberry? It is not teaberry-color.” 

“No,” said Miss Panney. “The color had nothing 
154 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


to do with, it, but I must say it has kept very well. 
Let me see/’ taking out her watch, “it is not yet eleven 
o’clock, and if you young people have time enough, 
I will tell you the story of that gown. What does the 
master say f ” 

Ralph declared that they must have the story, and 
that time must not be considered. 


155 


CHAPTER XYII 

JUDITH PACEWALK’S TEABEKRY GOWN 

“Judith Pace walk/’ said Miss Panney, “was Mat- 
thias Butterwood’s cousin. Before Matthias got rich 
and built this house, he lived with his Aunt Pacewalk 
on her farm. That was over at Pascalville, about 
thirty miles from here. He superintended the farm, 
and Judith and he were very good friends, although 
he never showed any signs of caring anything for her 
except in the way of a cousin. But she cared for him— 
there was no doubt about that. I lived in Pascal ville 
then, and used to be a great deal at their house, and 
it was as plain as daylight to me that Judith was in 
love with her cousin, although she was such a quiet 
girl that few people suspected it, and I know he did 
not. 

“The Pace walks were poor, and always had been, 
and it could not be expected that a man like Matthias 
Butterwood could stay long on that little farm. He 
had a sharp business head, and was a money-maker, 
and as soon as he was able he bought a farm of his own, 
and this is the farm. But there was no house on it 
then, except the little one that Mike now lives in. 

156 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


But Matthias had grand ideas about an estate, and in 
the course of five years he built this house and the 
great barn, and made a fine estate of it. 

“ While this was going on he still lived with his 
Aunt Pacewalk. He did not want to go to his own 
house until everything was finished and ready. Of 
course, everybody supposed he would take a wife 
there, but he never said anything about that, and gave 
a sniff when the subject was mentioned. During the 
summer in which Cobhurst was finished— he named 
the place himself — he told his aunt that in the fall he 
was going there to live, and that he wanted her and 
Judith to come there and make him a visit of a month. 
He said he intended to have his relations visit him by 
turns, and that was the sort of family he would have. 
Now, it struck me that if Judith went there and played 
her cards properly, she could stay there as mistress. 
Although she was a girl very much given to keeping 
her own counsel, I knew very well that she had some- 
thing of the same idea. 

“As I said before, the Pacewalks were poor, and al- 
though they lived well enough, money was scarce with 
them, and it was seldom that they were able to spend 
any of it for clothes. But about this time Judith came 
to me— I was visiting them at the time— and talked a 
little about herself, which was uncommon. She said 
that if she went to Matthias’s fine new house, and sat 
at the head of his table,— and of course that would be 
her place there, as it was at her mother’s table,— she 
thought that she ought to dress better than she did. 
‘ I do not mean,’ she said, That I want any fine clothes 
for company ; but I ought to have something neat and 
proper for every-day wear, and I want you to help me 
157 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


to think of some way to buy it.’ So we talked the 
matter over, and came to the conclusion that the best 
way to do was to try to gather teaberries enough to 
pay for the material for a chintz gown. 

“In those days— I don’t know how it is now— Pas- 
calville was the greatest place for teaberries. They 
used them as a flavor for candy, ice-cream, puddings, 
cakes, and I don’t know what else. They made sum- 
mer drinks of it, and it was used as a perfume for 
home-made hair-washes and tooth-powder. So Judith 
and I and a girl named Dorcas Stone, who was a friend 
of ours, went to work gathering teaberries in the woods. 
We worked early and late, and got enough to trade 
off at the store for the ten yards of chintz with which 
that gown is made. 

“As for the making of it, Judith and I did all that 
ourselves. Dorcas Stone might be willing enough to 
go with us to pick berries, but when she found what 
was to be bought with them, she drew out of the busi- 
ness. She was not a girl who was particularly sharp 
about seeing things herself, or keeping people from 
seeing through her $ but she wanted to marry Matthias 
Butterwood, and when she found Judith was to have 
a new gown she would have nothing to do with it, 
which was a pity, for she was a very fine sewer, espe- 
cially as to gathers. 

“We cut the gown from some patterns we got from 
a magazine. I fitted it, and we both sewed. When it 
was done, and Judith tried it on, it was very pretty 
and becoming, and she looked better in it than in the 
gown she wore when she went to a party. When we 
had seen that everything was all right, Judith took 
off the dress, folded it up, and put it away in a drawer. 

158 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


‘Now/ said she, ‘I shall not wear that until I go to 
Cobhurst.’ 

“Well, as everybody knows, houses are never fin- 
ished at the time they are expected to be, and that 
was the way with this house, and as Matthias would 
not go into it until everything was quite ready, the 
moving was put off and put off until it began to be 
cold weather, and then he said he would not go into 
it until spring, for it would be uncomfortable to live 
in the new house in the winter. 

“I was very sorry for this, for I thought that the 
sooner Judith got here, the better her chance would 
be for staying here the rest of her life. Judith did 
not say much, but I am sure she was sorry, too, and 
Matthias seemed a little out of spirits, as if he were 
getting a little tired of living with the Pacewalks, and 
wanted to be in his own house. I think he began to 
feel more like seeing people, and I know he visited 
the Stones a good deal. 

“One day when I was at the Pacewalks’, and we were 
sitting alone, he looked at me and my clothes, and 
then he said, ‘I wish Judith cared more for clothes 
than she does. I do not mean getting herself up for 
high-days and holidays, but her every-day clothes. I 
like a woman to wear neat and becoming things all the 
time.’ ‘ I am sure,’ I said, ‘ Judith’s clothes are always 
very neat ! ’ 

“‘If you mean clean,’ he said, ‘I will agree to that. 
But when the color is all washed out of a thing, or it 
is faded in streaks like that blue gown she wears, the 
wearing of it day after day is bound to make a person 
think that a young woman does not care how she 
looks to her own family, and I do not like young 
159 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


women not to care how they look to their families, 
especially when calico is only twelve cents a yard, and 
needles and thread cost almost nothing.’ 6 Matthias,’ 
said I, ‘I expect you have been to see Dorcas Stone, 
and are comparing her clothes with Judith’s. Now, 
Dorcas’s father is a well-to-do man, and Judith hasn’t 
any father, and she does the best she can with the 
clothes she has.’ 1 It is not money I am talking about,’ 
he said. ‘It is disposition. If a young woman wants 
to look well in her own family, she will find some way 
to do it. At any rate, she could let it be seen that 
she is not satisfied to look like a dowdy.’ And then 
he went away. 

“This was the first time that Matthias had ever 
spoken to me about Judith, and I knew just as well 
as if he had told me that it was Dorcas Stone’s clothes 
that had got him into that way of thinking. 

“More than that, I knew he would never have taken 
the trouble to say that much about Judith if he had 
not been taking more interest in her than he ever 
had before. He was a practical, business-like man, 
and I believed then, and I believe now, that he was 
looking for some one to be mistress of Cobhurst, and 
if Judith had suited his ideas of what such a woman 
ought to be, he would have preferred her to any one 
else. I think that was about as far as he was likely 
to go in such matters at that time, though, of course, 
if he had gotten a loving wife, he might have become 
a loving husband, for Matthias was a good fellow at 
bottom, though rather hard on top. 

“When he had gone, I went straight up-stairs to 
Judith, and said to her, if she knew what was good 
for her, she would get out that teaberry gown and 
160 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


put it on for supper, and wear it regularly at meals 
and at all times when it would be suitable as a house- 
gown. I shall do nothing of the sort/ she said. ‘I 
got it to wear when I go to Cobhurst, and I shall keep 
it until then. If I put it on now, it will be a poor- 
looking thing by spring.’ I told her that was all 
nonsense, and she could wear that and get another in 
the spring. But she shook her head and was not to be 
moved. Now, I would have been glad enough to give 
her the stuff to make a new gown, but I had hinted 
at that sort of thing before, and did not intend to do 
it again, for she was a good deal prouder than she was 
poor. Nor could I think of telling her what Matthias 
had said, for not only was she very sensitive, and 
would have been hurt that he should have talked to 
me in that way about her, but she would not have 
consented to dress herself on purpose to please a 
man’s fancy. 

“I could not do anything more then, but I have al- 
ways been a match-maker, and I did not give up this 
match. I did everything I could to make Judith look 
well in the eyes of Matthias, and I said everything I 
could to make his eyes look favorably on her, but it 
was all of no use. Judith went to a Christmas party, 
and she wore a purple silk gown that had belonged to 
her mother. It was rather large for her, and a good 
deal heavier than anything she had been accustomed 
to wear, and she got very warm in the crowded room, 
and coming home in a sleigh she caught cold, and 
died in less than a month. 

“So you see, my dears, Judith Pacewalk never wore 
her teaberry gown, in which, I believe, she would 
have been mistress of Cobhurst. When her mother 


161 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


died, not long afterwards, everything they owned 
went to Matthias and his brother Reuben. The Pace- 
walk farm was sold, and all the personal property of 
both brothers, including that disastrous box of bones, 
was brought here, where it is yet, I suppose. And so, 
my good young people, I imagine you will not wonder 
that I was surprised to see that pink gown again, 
having helped as I did with every seam, pleat, and 
gather of it. If you will look at it closely, you will 
see that there is good work on it, for Judith and I 
knew how to use our needles a good deal better than 
most ladies do nowadays.” 

Miriam now spoke with much promptness. 

“Iam ever so glad to hear that story, Miss Panney,” 
she said, “and as that teaberry gown should have 
been worn by the mistress of Cobhurst, I intend to 
wear it myself, every day, as long as it lasts, and if it 
does not fit me, I can alter it.” 

Whether this remark, which was delivered with 
considerable spirit, was occasioned by the young girl’s 
natural pride, or whether a little jealousy had been 
aroused by the evident satisfaction with which the 
old lady gazed at Dora, arrayed in this significant 
garment, Miss Panney could not know, but she took 
instant alarm. Nothing could be more fatal to her 
plans than to see the sister opposed to them. She 
had been delighted at the intimacy that had evi- 
dently sprung up between her and Dora, but she knew 
very well that if this sedate school girl should resent 
any interference with her prerogatives, the intimacy 
would be in danger. 

Miss Panney had no doubt that Dora and Ralph 
were on the right road, and would do very well if left 
162 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


to themselves, but she scarcely believed that the 
young man was yet sufficiently in love to brave the 
opposition of his sister, which would be all the more 
wild and unreasonable because she was yet a girl, and 
in a position of which she was very proud. 

For Dora and Ralph to marry, Dora and Miriam 
should be the best of friends, so that both brother and 
sister should desire the alliance, and in furtherance of 
this happy result, Miss Panney determined to take 
Dora away with her. She had been at Cobhurst long 
enough to produce a desirable impression upon Ralph, 
and if she stayed longer, there was no knowing what 
might happen between her and Miriam. Dora, as 
well as the other, was high-spirited and young, and it 
was as likely as not that, as she showed an inclination 
to continue to wear the teaberry gown, there would 
be a storm in which matrimonial schemes would be 
washed out of sight. 

“Dora,” said Miss Panney, “I am now going to 
drive to Thorbury, and it will be a great deal better 
for you to go with me than to wait for your brother, 
for it may be very late in the day before he can come 
for you. And, more than that, it is ten to one that by 
this time he has forgotten all about you, especially if 
his office is full of clients. So please get yourself 
ready as soon as possible. And, Miriam, if you will 
come over to see me some morning, and bring that 
teaberry gown with you, I will alter it to fit you, and 
arrange it so that you can do the sewing yourself. It 
is very appropriate that the little lady of the house 
should wear that gown.” 

Into the minds of Dora and Miss Panney there came, 
simultaneously, this idea : that no matter how much 
163 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


or how often Miriam might wear that gown, she would 
not be the first one whom it had figuratively invested 
with the prerogatives of the mistress of Cobhurst. 

Miss Bannister, who well knew her brother’s habits, 
agreed to the old lady’s suggestion, and it was well 
she did so, for when she got home, Herbert declared 
that he had been puzzling his mind to devise a plan 
for sending for his sister and the broken buggy on 
the same afternoon. As for going himself, it was 
impossible. 

When Dora came down-stairs arrayed in her proper 
costume, Ralph thought her a great deal prettier than 
when she wore the pink chintz. Miss Panney thought 
so, too, and she managed to leave them together while 
she went with Miriam to get pen and paper with 
which to write a note to Molly Tooney. 

“ Molly cannot read,” said the old lady, “but if Mike 
will take that to her, she will come to you and stay 
as long as you like.” And then she went on to talk 
about the woman until she thought that Ralph and 
Dora had had about five minutes together, which she 
considered enough. 

“You must both come and see me,” cried Miss Ban- 
nister, as, leaning from the phaeton, she stretched out 
her hand to Miriam. 

“Indeed, we shall do so,” said Ralph, and as his sis- 
ter relinquished the hand of the visitor, he took it 
himself. 

Miss Panney was not one of those drivers who start 
off with a jerk. Had she been such a one, Miss Ban- 
nister might have been pulled against the side of the 
phaeton, for the grasp was cordial. 


164 


CHAPTER XVIII 


BLARNEY FLUFF 

About three o’clock that afternoon, La Fleur, Mrs. 
Tolbridge’s cook, sat in the middle of her very pleas- 
ant kitchen, composing the dinner. Had she been 
the chef of a princely mansion, she could not have 
given the subject more earnest and intelligent consid- 
eration. It is true the materials at hand were not 
those from which a dinner for princes would have 
been prepared. But what she had was sufficient for 
the occasion, and this repast for a country gentleman 
and his wife in moderate circumstances was planned 
with conscientiousness as well as skill. From the first 
she had known very well that it would be fatal to her 
pretensions to prepare for the Tolbridges an expen- 
sive and luxurious meal, but she had determined that 
they should never sit down to any but a good one. 

Her soup had been determined upon and was off 
her mind, and she had prepared that morning, from 
some residuary viands which would have been wasted 
had she not used them in this way, the little entree 
which was to follow. Her filet, which the butcher 
had that morning declared he never separated from 
the contiguous portions for any one, but had very 
soon afterwards cut out for her, lay in the refriger- 
165 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


ator, awaiting her pleasure and convenience. The 
vegetables had been chosen, and her thoughts were 
now intent upon a “sweet” which should harmonize 
with the other courses. 

On a chair, by the door opening into the garden, 
sat George, the doctor’s man, who was coachman, 
groom, and gardener, and who, having picked a basket 
of peas, had been requested to shell them. By an 
open window, Amanda, the chambermaid, was extract- 
ing the stones from a little dish of olives. 

George was working rapidly and a little impa- 
tiently. 

“Madam,” said he, “do you want all these peas 
shelled?” 

La Fleur turned and looked at him with a leasant 
smile. 

“I want enough to surround my filet, but whether 
you shell enough for us to have any depends entirely 
on your good will, George.” 

“Of course I’ll shell as many as you want,” said he, 
“but I’ve got a lot to do this afternoon. There is the 
phaeton to be washed, that I don’t want the doctor 
to come home and find muddy yet ; and I ought to 
have done it this morning, madam, when I was walk- 
ing about the garden with you, a-tellin’ you what I 
had and a-hearin’ what I ought to have.” 

“I was so glad to have you go with me and show 
me everything,” said La Fleur, “because I do not yet 
exactly understand American gardens. It is such a 
nice garden, too, and you do not know how pleased I 
was, after you left me and I was coming to the house, 
to see that fine bed of aubergines. When will any of 
them be ripe, do you think, George ? ” 

166 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


The man looked up in surprise. 

“ There is nothing of that sort in my garden,” said 
he. “I never heard of them.” 

“Oh, yes, you have,” said La Fleur. “You call them 
egg-plants. You see, I am learning your American 
names for things. And now, Amanda, if you have 
finished the olives, Fll get you to make a fine powder 
of those things which I have put into the mortar. 
Thump and grind them well with the pestle. They 
are to make the stuffing for the olives.” 

“But, madam, what is to become of the sewing Mrs. 
Tolbridge wants me to do ? I have only hemmed two 
of the dozen napkins she gave me to do day before 
yesterday.” 

“Now, Amanda,” said La Fleur, “you ought to 
know very well that without a meal on the table 
napkins are of no use. You might have the meals 
without napkins, but it wouldn’t work the other 
way. And I am sure those napkins are not to be 
used for a week, or perhaps several weeks, and this 
dinner must be eaten to-day. So you can see for 
yourself — ” 

At this moment there was a knock at the inner 
door of the kitchen. 

“Who can that be ! ” exclaimed La Fleur. “Come 
in.” 

The door opened, and Miss Panney entered the 
kitchen. La Fleur rose from her seat, and for a mo- 
ment the two elderly women stood and looked at each 
other. 

“And this is La Fleur,” said Miss Panney. “Mrs. 
Tolbridge has been talking about you, and I asked 
her to let me come in and see you. I want to speak 
167 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

to you for a few minutes, and I will sit down here. 
Don’t you stand up.” 

La Fleur liked people to come and talk to her, 
provided they were the right sort of people, and came 
in the right way. Miss Panney’s salutation pleased 
her. She had a respect for people who showed a 
proper recognition of differences of position. If Miss 
Panney had been brought into the kitchen by Mrs. 
Tolbridge and in a manner introduced to La Fleur, 
the latter would have regarded her as something of 
an equal, and would not have respected her. Had 
the old lady accosted her in a supercilious manner, 
La Fleur would have disliked her, even if she had 
supposed she were a person to be respected. But 
Miss Panney had filled all the requirements necessary 
for the cook’s favorable opinion. In the few words 
she had spoken, she had shown that she was a friend 
of the mistress of the house ; that she had heard in- 
teresting things of the cook, and therefore wished to 
see her; that she knew this cook was a woman of 
sense, who understood what was befitting to her posi- 
tion, and would therefore stand when talking to a 
lady, and, moreover, in consequence of the fact that 
this cook was superior to her class, she would waive 
the privileges of her class, and request the cook to sit 
while talking to her. To have waived this privilege 
without first indicating that she knew La Fleur would 
acknowledge her possession of it would have been 
damaging to Miss Panney. 

Upon the features of La Fleur, which were inclined 
to be bulbous, there now appeared a smile, which was 
very different from that with which she encouraged 
and soothed her conscripted assistants. It was a smile 
168 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


that showed that she was pleasurably honored, and it 
was accompanied by a slight bow and a downward 
glance. Then, turning to the man and the maid, she 
told them in a low voice that they might go, a per- 
mission of which they instantly availed themselves. 

Miss Panney now sat down, and La Fleur, pushing 
her chair a little away from the table, availed herself 
of the permission to do likewise. 

“I have eaten some of your cooking, La Fleur,” 
said Miss Panney, “and I liked it so much that I 
wished to ask you something about it. For one thing, 
where did you get the recipe for that delicious ice 
flavored with raspberry?” 

The cook smiled with a new smile — one of genuine 
pleasure. 

“To make that ice,” she answered, “one must have 
more than a recipe : one must be educated. Tolati, 
my first husband, invented that ice, and no chef in 
Europe could make it but himself. But he taught 
me, and I make it for Dr. and Mrs. Tolbridge. It 
has a quality of cream, though there is no cream 
in it.” 

“I never tasted anything of the kind so good,” said 
Miss Panney, “and I am a judge, for I have lived 
long and eaten meals prepared by the best cooks.” 

“French, perhaps,” said La Fleur. 

“Oh, yes,” was the reply, “and those of other na- 
tions. I have travelled.” 

“I could see that,” said La Fleur, “by your appre- 
ciation of my work. French cooking is the best in 
the world, and if you have an English cook to do it, 
then there is nothing more to be desired. It is like 
the French china with the English designs which 
169 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


they make now. I once visited their works, and was 
very proud of my countrymen.” 

“The conceited old body,” thought Miss Panney. 
But she said : “Very true, very true. It is delightful 
to me to think that my friends here have a cook who 
can prepare meals which are truly fit, not only to 
nourish the body without doing it any harm, but to 
gratify the most intelligent taste. I have noticed, La 
Fleur, that there is always something about your 
dishes that pleases the eye as well as the palate. 
When we say that cooking is thoroughly wholesome, 
delicious, and artistic, we can say no more.” 

“You do me proud,” said La Fleur, “and I hope, 
madam, that you may eat many a meal of my cooking. 
I want to say this, too : I could not cook for Dr. and 
Mrs. Tolbridge as I do if I did not feel that they ap- 
preciate my work. I know they do, and so I am en- 
couraged to do my best.” 

“Not only does the doctor appreciate you,” said 
Miss Panney, “but his health depends upon you. He 
is a man who is peculiarly sensitive to bad cooking. 
I have known him all his life, and known him well. 
He was getting in a bad way, La Fleur, when you 
came here, and you are already making a new man 
of him.” 

“I like to hear that,” said La Fleur. “I have a 
high opinion of Dr. Tolbridge. I know what he is 
and what he needs. I often sit up late at night, 
thinking of things that will be good for him, and 
which he will like. We all work, here : every one of 
the household is industrious,— but the doctor and I are 
the only ones who must work with our brains. The 
others simply work with their bodies and hands.” 

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THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Miss Panney fixed her black eyes on the bulbous- 
faced cook. 

“The word ‘ conceit/” she thought, “is imbecile in 
this case.” 

“I am glad you are both so well able to do it,” she 
said aloud. “And you like it here? The place suits 
you?” 

“Oh, yes, madam,” replied La Fleur, “it suits me 
very well. It is not what I am accustomed to, but I 
gave up all that of my own accord. Life in great 
houses has its advantages and its pleasures, and its am- 
bitions, too. But I am getting on in years, and I am 
tired of the worry and bustle of large households. I 
came to this country to visit my relatives, and to rest 
and enjoy myself. But I soon found that I could not 
live without cooking. You might as well expect Dr. 
Tolbridge to live without reading.” 

“That is very true, La Fleur,” said Miss Panney, 
“and it seems to me that you are in the very home 
where you can spend the rest of your days most 
profitably to others, and most happily to yourself. 
And yet I hear that you are considering the possibil- 
ity of not staying here.” 

“Yes,” answered La Fleur, “I am considering that. 
But it is not because I am dissatisfied with anything 
here. It is altogether a different question. I am 
very much attached to the family I first lived with in 
this country. They are in trouble now, and I think 
they may need me. If they do, I shall go to them. I 
have quite settled all that in my mind. I am now 
waiting for an answer to a letter I have written to 
Mrs. Drane.” 

“La Fleur,” said Miss Panney, “if you leave Dr. 

171 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Tolbridge, I think it will be a great mistake, and, 
although I do not want to hurt your feelings, I feel 
bound to say that it will be almost a crime.” 

The cook’s face assumed an expression of firmness. 

“ All that may be,” she said, “but it makes no differ- 
ence. If they need me, I shall go to them.” 

“But cannot somebody else be found to go to them? 
You are not as necessary there as you are here, nor so 
highly prized. They let you go of their own accord.” 

“No one else will go to them for nothing,” said La 
Fleur, “and I shall do that.” 

Miss Panney sat with her brows knit. 

“If the Dranes have become poor,” she said pres- 
ently, “it is natural that you should want to help 
them. But it may not be at all necessary that you 
should go to them. In fact, by doing that you might 
embarrass them very much. There are only two of 
them, I believe— mother and daughter. Do they do 
anything to support themselves ? ” 

“Miss Cicely is trying to get a situation as teacher. 
If she can do that, she can support her mother. At 
present they are doing nothing, and, I fear, have 
nothing to live on. I know my going to them would 
not embarrass them. I can help them in ways you 
do not think of.” 

“La Fleur,” said Miss Panney, “your feelings are 
highly honorable to you, but you are not going about 
this business in the right way. I have heard of the 
Drane family, and know what sort of people they are. 
They would not have you work for them for nothing, 
and perhaps buy with your own money the food you 
cook. What should be done is to help them to 
172 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


help themselves. If Miss Drane wishes a position 
as teacher, one should be got for her.” 

“That is out of my line,” said La Fleur, shaking 
her head,— “out of my line. I can cook for them, but 
I can’t help them to be teachers.” 

“But perhaps I can, and I am going to try. What 
you have told me encourages me very much. To get 
a position as teacher for Miss Drane ought to be easy 
enough. To get Dr. Tolbridge a cook who could take 
your place would be impossible.” 

La Fleur smiled. “I believe that,” she said. 

“Now, what I do is for the sake of the doctor,” con- 
tinued Miss Panney. “I do not know the Dranes 
personally, but I have no objection to benefiting them 
if I can. But, for the sake of a friend whom I have 
known all his days, I wish to keep you in this kitchen. 
I am not afraid to say this to you, because I know 
you are not a person who would take advantage of 
the opinion in which you are held to make demands 
upon the family which they could not satisfy.” 

“You need not say anything about that, madam,” 
replied La Fleur. “Nobody can tell me anything 
about my work and value which I did not know be- 
fore, and as for my salary, I fixed that myself, and 
there shall be no change.” 

Miss Panney rose. “La Fleur,” she said, “I am 
very glad I came here to talk to you. I did not sup- 
pose that I should meet with such a sensible woman, 
and I shall ask a favor of you. Please do not take any 
steps in this matter without consulting me. I am 
going to work immediately to see what I can do for 
Miss Drane, and if I succeed it will be far better for 
173 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


her and her mother than if you went to them. Don’t 
you see that?” 

“Yes,” said La Fleur, “that is reasonable enough. 
But I must admit that I should like to see them.” 

Miss Panney ignored the latter remark. 

“Now, do not forget, La Fleur,” she said, “to send 
me word when you get a letter, and then I may write 
to Miss Drane, but I shall go to work for her immedi- 
ately. And now I will leave you to go on with your 
dinner. I shall dine here to-day, and I shall enjoy 
the meal so much better because I know the chef who 
prepared it.” 

La Fleur resumed her seat and the consideration of 
her “sweet.” 

“She is a wheedling old body,” she said to herself, 
“but I suppose I ought to give her something extra 
for that speech.” 

The next morning Mrs. Tolbridge came into the 
kitchen. “La Fleur,” said she, “what is the name of 
that delicious dessert you gave us last night?” 

The cook sighed. “She will always call the sweet 
a dessert,” she thought ; and then she answered, “That 
was Blarney Fluff, ma’am, with sauce Irlandaise.” 

Mrs. Tolbridge laughed. “Whatever is its name,” 
she said, “we all thought it was the sweetest and soft- 
est, most delightful thing of the kind we had ever 
tasted. Miss Panney was particularly pleased with it.” 

“I hoped she would be,” said La Fleur. 


174 


CHAPTER XIX 

MISS PANNEY IS “TOOK SUDDEN” 

“I hate spoken to Mr. Ames about it,” said Hr. Tol- 
bridge to Miss Panney, as, two days later, they were 
sitting together in his office, “and we are both agreed 
that teachers in Thorbnry are like the vines on the 
gable-ends of' our church : they are needed there, but 
they do not flourish. You see, so many of our people 
send their children away to school— that is, when they 
are really old enough to learn anything.” 

“I would do it, too, if I had children,” said the old 
lady. “But this is a matter which rises above the or- 
dinary points of view. I do not believe that you look 
at it properly, for if you did you would not sit there 
and talk so coolly. Ho you appreciate the fact that 
if Miss Hrane does not soon get something to do, you 
will be living on soggy, half-baked bread, greasy fried 
meat, water-soaked vegetables, and muddy coffee, and 
every one of your higher sentiments will be merged 
in dyspepsia t ” 

The doctor smiled. “I did not suppose it would be 
as bad as that,” he said. “But if what you Say is 
true, let us skip about instantly, and do something.” 

“That is the sort of action that I am trying to goad 
you into,” said the old lady. 

175 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“Oh, I will do what I can / 7 said the doctor, “but 
I really think there is nothing to be done here, at 
t his season. People do not want teachers in summer, 
and I see no promise of a later demand of this sort in 
Thorbury. We must try elsewhere . 77 

“Not yet , 77 said the other. “I shall not give up 
Thorbury yet. It is easier for us to work for Miss 
Drane here than anywhere else, because we are here, 
and we are not anywhere else. Moreover, she will 
like to come here, for then she will not be among 
strangers. So please let us exhaust Thorbury before 
thinking of any other place . 77 

“Very good , 77 said the. doctor, leaning back in his 
chair. “And now let us exhaust Thorbury as fast as 
we can, before a patient comes in. I am expecting one . 77 

“If she comes, she can wait , 77 said Miss Panney. 
“You have a case here which is acute and alarming, 
and cannot be trifled with . 77 

“How do you know I expect a ‘she 7 ? 77 asked the 
doctor. 

“If it had been a man, he would have been here 
and gone , 77 said Miss Panney. 

Miss Panney knew as well as any one that immedi- 
ate employment as a teacher could be rarely obtained 
in summer, and for this reason she wished to confine 
her efforts to the immediate neighborhood, where 
personal persuasion and influence might be brought 
into action. Moreover, she had said to herself, “If 
we cannot get any teaching for the girl, we must get 
her something else to do, for the present. But what- 
ever is to be done must be done here and now, or the 
old woman will be off before we know it . 77 

She sat for a few moments with her brows knitted 
176 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


in thought. Suddenly she exclaimed, “Is it Susan 
Clopsey you expect*? Very well, then, I will make 
an exception in her favor. She is just coming in at 
the gate, and I would not interfere with your prac- 
tice on her for anything. She has got money and a 
spinal column, and as long as they both last, she is 
more to be depended on than government bonds. If 
her troubles ever get into her legs,— and I have reason 
to believe they will,— you can afford to hire a little 
maid for your cook. Old Daniel Clopsey, her grand- 
father, died at ninety-five, and he had then the same 
doctor able rheumatism that he had at fifty. I have 
something to think over, and I will come in again 
when she is gone.” 

“Depart, O mercenary being ! ” exclaimed the doc- 
tor, “before you abase my thoughts from sulphate of 
quinia to filthy lucre.” 

“Lucre is never filthy until you lose it,” said the 
old lady, as she went out on the back piazza and 
closed the door behind her. 

About twenty minutes later she burst into the doc- 
tor’s office. “Mercy on us ! ” she exclaimed, “are you 
here yet, Susan Clopsey? I must see you, doctor. 
But don’t you go, Susan. I won’t keep him more than 
two minutes.” 

“Oh, don’t mind me,” cried Miss Clopsey, a parched 
maiden of twoscore. “I can wait just as well as not. 
Where is the pain, Miss Panney? Were you took 
sudden ! ” 

“Like the pop of a jack -box. Come, doctor, I must 
see you in the parlor.” 

“Can I do anything?” asked Miss Clopsey, rising. 
“How dreadful ! Shall I go for hot water? ” 

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THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“Oh, don’t be alarmed/’ said Miss Panney, hurrying 
the amazed doctor out of the room. “It is chronic. 
He will be back in no time.” 

Miss Clopsey, left alone in the office, sank back in 
her chair. 

“Chronic by jerks/’ she sighed. “There can be few 
things worse than that. And at her age, too ! ” 

“What can be the matter?” asked the doctor, as 
the two stood in the parlor. 

“It is an idea,” said Miss Panney. “You cannot 
think with what violence it seized me. Doctor, what 
became of that book you wrote on the i Diagnosis of 
Sympathy ’ ? ” 

The doctor opened his eyes in astonishment. 

“Nothing has become of it. It has been in my desk 
for two years. I have not had time even to copy 
it.” 

“And, of course, your writing could not be trusted 
to a printer. Now, what you should do is this : em- 
ploy that Drane girl to copy your manuscript. She 
can do it here, and if she comes to a word she cannot 
make out, she can ask you. That will keep her going 
until autumn, and by that time we can get her some 
scholars.” 

“Miss Panney,” said the doctor, “are you going 
crazy ? I cannot afford charity on that scale.” 

“Charity ! ” repeated the old lady, sarcastically. 
“A pretty word to use. By that sort of charity you 
give yourself one of the greatest of earthly blessings, 
in the shape of La Fleur, and you get out a book 
which will certainly be a benefit to the world, and 
will, I believe, bring you fame and profit. And you 
are frightened by the paltry sum that will be neces- 
178 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


sary to pay the board of the girl and her mother for 
perhaps two months ! Now, do not condemn this plan 
until you have had time to consider it. Go back to 
your Clopsey. I am going to find Mrs. Tolbridge and 
talk to her.” 


179 


CHAPTER XX 


THE TEABERRY GOWN IS TOO LARGE 

When Dora Bannister had gone away in Miss Panney’s 
phaeton, Miriam walked gravely into the house, fol- 
lowed by her brother. 

“Xow,” said she, “I must go to work in earnest.” 

“Work!” exclaimed Ralph. “I think you have 
been working a good deal harder than you ought to 
work, and certainly a good deal harder than I intend 
you to work. As soon as he has had his dinner, Mike 
shall take the wagon and go after the woman Miss 
Panney told us of.” 

“Of course, I have been working,” said Miriam, 
“but while Dora Bannister was here, what we did 
was not like straightforward work ; it all seemed to 
mean something that was not just plain housekeeping. 
For one thing, the dough I intended to bake into 
bread was nearly all used up in making those rolls 
that Dora worked up into such pretty shapes ; and 
now, if the new woman comes, I shall not have an- 
other chance to try my hand at making bread until 
she leaves us, for I am not going to do anything of the 
sort with a servant watching me. And there are all 
those raspberries we picked this morning. I am sure 
180 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


I do not know what to do with them, for there are 
ever so many more than we shall want to eat with 
cream. What was it, Ralph, that you said you liked 
made of raspberries f ” 

Ralph looked a little puzzled. 

“I think/’ he said, “it must have been something 
of the tart order. What did I tell you ? ” 

“You did not tell me anything,” said Miriam, “and 
I do not believe that tarts are ever made of raspber- 
ries. Dora Bannister said she wanted to cook some- 
thing for you that you told her you liked, but as you 
have forgotten what it was, I suppose it does not make 
much difference now.” 

Ralph had said so many things to Dora that he 
could not remember what remark he had made about 
cooked raspberries. But it delighted him to think 
that, whatever it was, Dora had wished to make it 
for him. 

After dinner, Miriam went up to her room, where, 
upon the bed, lay Judith Pacewalk’s teaberry gown. 
She took off her own school -girl dress, and put on the 
pink gown. It was the first time she had ever worn 
the clothes of a woman. When she had attired her- 
self in the robe which had been so fatal to the 
fortunes and life of Judith Pacewalk, it had been 
slipped on in masquerade fashion, debased from its 
high position to a mere protection from spilt milk. 
Miriam had thought of the purple silk when Miss 
Panney was telling her story, and had said to herself 
that if the stall in the cow stable had been ever so 
much darker and dirtier, and if the milk-stains had 
been more and bigger, the career of that robe would 
have ended all the more justly. 

181 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

The teaberry gown was too long for Miriam, and 
too large in every way. She knew that for herself. 
But hearing Ralph’s footsteps outside, she had a long- 
ing to know what he would say on the subject, so, 
holding up her skirt to keep herself from tripping, 
she ran down-stairs and called him into the big hall. 

“How do you like me in the teaberry gown?” she 
asked. 

Without a thought of any figurative significance 
connected with the dress, Ralph only saw that it was 
as unsuitable to his sister as it had been well suited 
to Dora. 

“You will have to grow a good deal bigger and 
older before you are able to fill that gown, my little 
one,” he said. 

“That is not the way I do things,” said Miriam, 
severely. “I shall make the gown fit me.” 

Ralph was about to say that it would be a pity to 
cut down and alter that picturesque piece of old-fash- 
ioned attire into an ordinary garment, and that it 
would be well to keep it as a family relic, or to give 
it away to some one who could wear it as it was ; but 
Miriam’s manner assured him that she was extremely 
sensitive on the subject of this gown, and he considered 
it wise to offer no further opinion about it. So he 
went about his affairs, and Miriam, having resumed 
her ordinary dress, went out with her cook-book to a 
bench under a tree on the lawn. She never stayed in 
the house when it was possible to be out of doors. 

“I wish I could find out,” she said to herself, “what 
Dora Bannister intended to make for Ralph out of 
raspberries. Whatever it is, I know I can make it 
just as well, and I want to do it all myself before the 
182 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


new cook comes. It could not have been jam/’ she 
said, as she turned over the leaves, “for Ralph does 
not care much for jam, and he would not have told 
her he liked that. And then, there is jelly. But it 
must take a long time to make jelly, and I do not be- 
lieve she would undertake to give him that for din- 
ner, made from raspberries picked this morning. 
Besides, I cannot imagine Ralph saying he wanted 
jelly for his dinner. Well, well!” she exclaimed 
aloud, as she stopped to read a recipe, “they do make 
tarts out of raspberries ! That must have been it, for 
Ralph is desperately fond of every kind of pastry. I 
will go into the house this minute, and make bi m 
some raspberry tarts. We shall have them for supper, 
even if they give him the nightmare. I am not going 
to have him say again that he wished the new cook, 
as he kept calling Dora Bannister, had stayed a little 
longer.” 

Alas ! at dinner-time Ralph had been guilty of that 
indiscretion. Without exactly knowing it, he had 
missed in the meal a certain very pleasant element 
which had been put into the supper and breakfast by 
Dora’s desire to gratify his especial tastes. While he 
missed their visitor in many other ways, he alluded 
to her premature departure only in connection with 
their domestic affairs. 

But so far as Miriam was concerned, he could have 
done nothing worse than this. To have heard her 
brother say that Dora Bannister was the most lovely 
girl he had ever seen, and that he was filled with grief 
at losing the delights of her society, might have been 
disagreeable to her, or it might not. But to have him, 
even in the lightest way, intimate that her housekeep- 
183 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


ing was preferable to that of bis own sister nettled 
her self-esteem. 

“I will show him/’ she said, “that he is mistaken.” 

In the pleasant coolness of the great barn, Ralph 
stretched himself on a pile of new-made hay to think. 
He was a farmer, and he intended to try to be a good 
farmer, and he knew that good farmers, during work- 
ing hours, do not lie down on piles of hay to think. 
But, notwithstanding that, in this hay -scented solitude, 
looking out of the great door upon the quiet landscape 
with the white clouds floating over it, he thought of 
Dora. He had been thinking of her in all sorts of ir- 
regular and disjointed ways ever since he had risen in 
the morning, but now he wished to think definitely, 
and lay down here for that purpose. One cannot 
think definitely and single -mindedly when engaged 
in farm work, especially if he sometimes finds himself 
a little awkward at said work and is bothered by it. 

Whenever he could do it, Ralph Haverley liked to 
get things clear and straightforward in his mind. He 
had applied this rule to all matters of his former busi- 
ness, and he now applied it to the affairs of his pres- 
ent estate. But how much more important was it to 
apply the rules to Dora Bannister ! Nothing had 
ever put his mind into a condition less clear and 
straightforward than the visit of that young lady. 
The main point to be decided upon was, what should 
he do about seeing her again*? He was filled by an 
all-pervading desire to do that. But how should he 
set about it? The simplest plan would be to go and 
see her ; but if he did so, he knew he ought to take 
his sister with him, and he had no reason to believe 
that Miriam would be in any hurry to return Miss 
184 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Bannister’s visit. If he had been acquainted with 
the brother, the case would have been different, but 
that gentleman had not yet called upon him. 

Having thought some time on this subject, Ralph 
sat upright, and rearranged his reflections. 

“Why is it,” he said to himself, “that I am so 
anxious to see her again, and to see her as soon as 
possible ? ” 

To the solution of this question Ralph applied the 
full force of his intellectual powers. The conclusion 
that came to him after about six seconds of delibera- 
tion was not well defined, but it indicated that if al- 
most any young man had had in his house— actually 
living with him and taking part in his household 
affairs— an unusually handsome young woman, who, 
not only by her appearance, but by her gentle and 
thoughtful desire to adapt herself to the tastes and 
circumstances of himself and his sister, seemed to be- 
long in the place into which she had so suddenly 
dropped, that young man would naturally want to 
see that young woman just as soon as he could. This 
would be so in any similar case, and there was no use 
in trying to find out why it was so in this case. 

He rose to his feet, and at that moment he heard 
Miriam calling to him. 

“Ralph,” she said, running into the barn, “I have 
been looking all over for you. The new woman can- 
not come to-day.” 

“I do not see why you should appear so delighted 
about it,” said Ralph. “I am very sorry to hear it.” 

“But I am not,” replied Miriam. “There are some 
things I want to do before she comes, and I am very 
glad to have the chance. Mike brought back word 
185 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


from her that if you send the wagon in the cool of the 
morning, she will come over with her trunk. 7 ’ 

“You are a funny girl , 77 said Ralph, “to be actually 
pleased at the prospect of cooking and doing house- 
work a little longer . 77 And as he said that, he con- 
gratulated himself that his sister had not had the 
chance of thinking him a funny fellow for lying 
stretched on the hay when he ought to have been at 
work. 

Miriam was now in good spirits again. She walked 
to the great open window, and, leaning on the bar, 
looked out. 

“What a lovely air , 77 she said, and then she turned 
to her brother. “It is nice to have visitors, and to 
have plenty of people to do your work, but it is a 
hundred times jollier for just us two to be here by 
ourselves. Don’t you think so, Ralph ? 77 And, with- 
out waiting for her brother’s answer, she went on : 
“You see, we can do whatever we please. We can 
be as free as anything— as free as ca^s. Here, puss, 
puss , 77 she called to the gray barn-cat in the yard 
below. “Ho, she will not even look at me. Cats are 
the freest creatures in the world. They will not come 
to you if they do not want to. If you call your dog, 
he feels that he has to come to you. Ralph, do you 
know I think it is the most absurd thing in the world 
that in a place like this we should have no dog.” 

“I have been waiting for somebody to give me one,” 
said Ralph, taking up a pitchfork and preparing to 
throw some hay into the stable below. 

“That will be the nicest way of getting one,” said 
Miriam, as she came and stood by him, and watched 
him thrust the hay into the yawning hole. “We do 
186 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


not want a dog that people are willing to sell. We 
want one that is the friend of the family, and which 
the owners are obliged to part with because they are 
going to Europe, or something of that sort. Such a 
dog we should prize. Don’t you think so, Ralph?” 

“Yes,” said he, and went on taking up fork-loads of 
hay and thrusting them into the hole. He was won- 
dering if this were a good time to tell Miriam that 
that very morning Dora Bannister had been talking 
about there being no dog at Cobhurst, and had asked 
him if he would like to have one, for, if he would, 
she had a very handsome black setter, which had 
been given to her when it was a little puppy, and of 
which she was very fond, but which had now grown 
too big and lively to be cooped up in the yard of their 
house. He had said that he would be charmed to 
have the dog, and had intended to tell Miriam about it, 
but, now when a most excellent opportunity had come 
to do so, he hesitated. Miriam’s soul did not seem to 
incline toward their late visitor, and perhaps she 
might not care for a gift from her. It might be 
better to wait awhile. Then there came a happy 
thought to Ralph. Here was a good reason for going 
to see Dora. It would be no more than polite to take 
an interest in the animal which had been offered him, 
and even if he did not immediately bring it to Cob- 
hurst, he could go and look at it. Miriam now re- 
turned to the house, leaving her brother pondering 
over the question whether or not the next morning 
would be too soon to go and look at the dog. 

The sun had set, and Ralph, having finished his 
day’s work, and having helped his sister as much as 
she and Mike would let him, sat on the piazza, gazing 
187 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


between the tall pillars upon the evening landscape, 
and still trying to decide whether or not it would be 
out of the way to go the next morning to Dora Ban- 
nister. The evening light grew less and less, and 
Ralph’s healthy instincts drew his mind from thoughts 
of Dora to thoughts of supper. It certainly was very 
late for the evening meal, but he would not worry 
Miriam with any signs of impatience. That would 
be unkind, indeed, when she was slaving away in the 
kitchen while he sat here enjoying the evening cool- 
ness. 

In a few minutes he heard his sister’s step in the 
hall, and then a sob. He had scarcely time to turn, 
when Miriam ran out, and threw herself down on the 
wide seat beside him. Her face, as he could see it in 
the dim light, was one of despair, and as sob after sob 
broke from her, tears ran down her cheeks. Tenderly 
he put his arm around her and urged her to tell him 
what had happened. 

“Oh, Ralph,” she sobbed, “it is very hard, but I 
know it is true. I have been just filled with vanity 
and pride, and, after all, I am nothing like as good as 
she is, nor as good as anybody, and the best I can do 
is to go back to school. ” 

“What is the matter?” exclaimed Ralph. “You 
poor little thing, how came you to be so troubled? ” 

Miriam gave a long sigh and dropped her head on 
her brother’s shoulder. 

“Oh, Ralph,” she said, “they are six inches high.” 

“What are?” cried Ralph, in great amazement. 

“The tarts,” she said, — “the raspberry tarts I was 
making for you because you like them, and because 
Dora Bannister was going to make them for you, and 
188 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


I determined that I could do it just as well as she 
could, and that I would do it, and that you would not 
have to miss her for anything. But it is of no use. I 
cannot do things as well as she can, and those tarts 
are not like tarts at all ; they are like chimneys.” 

“I expect they are very good indeed. Now, do not 
drop another tear, and let us go in and eat them.” 

“No,” said Miriam, “they are not good. I know 
what is the matter with them. I have found out that 
I have no more idea of making pie-crust than I have 
about the nebulous part of astronomy, and that I 
never could comprehend. I wanted to make the 
lightest, puffiest pastry that was possible, and I used 
some self-raising flour,— the kind that has the yeast 
ground up with it,— and when I put those tarts in the 
oven to bake, they just rose up, and rose up, until I 
thought they would reach up the chimney. They are 
perfectly horrid ! ” 

Ralph sprang to his feet, and lifted his sister from 
her seat. “Come along, little one,” he cried, “and I 
shall judge for myself what sort of a pastry-cook you 
are.” 

“The pigs shall judge that,” said Miriam, who had 
now dried her eyes, “but, fortunately, there are other 
things to eat.” 

The tarts, indeed, were wonderful things to look at, 
resembling, as Miriam had said, a plateful of little 
chimneys, each with a sort of swallow’s nest of jam at 
the top. But Ralph did not laugh at them. 

“Wait until their turn comes,” said Ralph, “and I 
will give my opinion about them.” 

When he had finished the substantial part of the 
meal, he drew the plate of tarts toward him. 

189 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“I will show yon how to eat the Cobhurst tart. 
You cut it down from top to bottom, then you lay 
the two sections on their rounded sides, then you get 
a lot more of jam, which I see you have on the side- 
table, and you spread the cut surfaces with it, then 
you put it together as it was before, and slice it along 
its shorter diameter. Good?” said he. “They are 
delicious ! ” 

Miriam took a piece. “It is good enough,” she 
said, “but it is not a tart. If Dora Bannister had 
made them, they would have been real tarts.” 

“It is very well I said nothing about the dog,” 
thought Ralph. And then he said aloud : “It is not 
Dora Bannister that we have to consider ; it is Molly 
Tooney. She is to save you from the tears and per- 
plexities of flour and yeast, and to make you the 
happy little lady of the house that you were before 
the wicked Phoebe went away. But one thing I in- 
sist upon : I want the rest of those tarts for my 
breakfast.” 

Miriam looked at her brother with a smile that 
showed her storm was over. 

“You are eating those things, dear Ralph,” she 
said, “because I made them, and that is the only good 
thing about them.” 


190 


CHAPTER XXI 

THE DEANES AND THEIR QUARTERS 

In a small room at the back of Dr. Tolbridge’s house 
there sat a young woman by the window, writing. 
This was Cicely Drane. Although it was not yet ten 
days since Miss Panney broached her plan of the 
employment of Miss Drane as the doctor’s secretary, 
or rather copyist, here she was, hard at work, and she 
had been for two days. 

The window opened upon the garden, and in the 
beds were a great many bright and interesting 
flowers, but, paying no heed to these, Cicely gave her 
whole attention to her task, which, indeed, was not 
an easy one. With knitted brows she bent over the 
manuscript of the “ Diagnosis of Sympathy,” and hav- 
ing deciphered a line or two, she wrote the words in 
a fair hand on a broad sheet before her. Then she 
returned to the study of the doctor’s calligraphy, and 
copied a little more of it. But the proportion of the 
time she gave to the deciphering of the original manu- 
script to that occupied in writing the words in her 
own hand was about as ten is to one. An hour had 
elapsed since she had begun to write on the page, 
which she had not yet filled. 

191 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Miss Cicely Drane was a small person, nearing her 
twenty-second year. She had handsome gray eyes, 
tastefully arranged brown hair, and a vivacious and 
pleasing face. Her hands were small, her feet were 
small, and she did not look as if she weighed a hun- 
dred pounds, although, in fact, her weight was con- 
siderably more than that. Her dress was a simple 
one, on which a great deal of thought had been em- 
ployed to make it becoming. 

For a longer time than usual she now bent over the 
doctor’s manuscript, endeavoring to resolve a portion 
of it into comprehensible words. Then she held up 
the page to the light, replaced it on the table, stood 
up and looked at it, and finally sat down again, her 
elbows on the paper, and her tapering fingers in the 
little brown curls at the sides of her head. Presently 
she raised her head, with a sigh. “It is of no use,” 
she said. “I must go and ask him what this means— 
that is, if he is at home.” 

With the page in her hand, she went to the office 
door, and knocked. 

“Come in,” said Dr. Tolbridge. 

Miss Drane entered. The doctor was alone, but he 
had his hat in his hand and was just going out. 

“I am glad I caught you,” said she, “for there is a 
part of this page in which I can see no meaning.” 

“What is it? ” said the doctor. “Read it.” 

Slowly and distinctly she read : 

“ 1 The cropsticks of flamingo bicrastus quack.’ ” 

The doctor frowned, laid his hat on the table, and, 
seating himself, took the paper from Cicely Drane. 

“This is strange,” said he. “It does seem to be 
* cropsticks of flamingo,’ but what can that mean? ” 
192 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“That is what I came to ask you/’ said she. “I 
have been puzzling over it a good while, and I sup- 
posed, of course, you would know what it is.” 

“But I do not,” said the doctor. “It is often very 
hard for me to read my own writing, and this was 
written two years ago. You can leave this sheet with 
me, and this evening I will look over it and try to 
make something out of it.” 

Cicely Drane was methodical in her ways. She 
could not properly go on with the rest of her work 
without this page, and so she told the doctor. 

“Oh, never mind any more work for to-day,” said 
he. “It is after four o’clock now, and you ought to 
go out and get a little of this pleasant sunshine. By 
the way, how do you like this new business ? ” 

“I should like it very well,” said Cicely, as she 
stood by the table, “if I could get on faster with it, 
but I work so very, very slowly. I made a calcula- 
tion, this morning, that if I work at the same rate 
that I have been working since I came here, it will 
take me thirteen years and eleven months to copy 
your manuscript.” 

The doctor laughed. “If a child should walk to 
school,” he said, “at the same rate of speed that he 
takes his first toddling step on the nursery floor, it 
might take him about thirteen years to get there— 
that is, if his school were at the average distance. 
You will get on fast enough when you become ac- 
quainted with my writing.” 

She was on the point of saying that surely he had 
had time to get acquainted with it, and yet he could 
not read it, but she considered that she did not yet 
know the doctor well enough for that. 

193 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


The doctor rose and took up his hat. Then he 
suddenly turned toward Miss Drane and said : “La 
Fleur, our cook, came to speak to me this morning 
about your mother. She says she thinks that you are 
not well lodged— that the street is in the hottest part 
of the town, and that Mrs. Drane’s health will suffer 
if you stay there. Does your mother object to your 
present quarters ? ” 

Cicely, who had been half-way to the door, now 
came back and stood by the table. 

“Mother never objects to anything,” she said. 
“She thinks our rooms are very neat and comfortable, 
and that Mrs. Brinkly is a kind landlady. But she has 
complained a great deal of the heat. You know, our 
house was very airy.” 

“I am sorry,” said the doctor, “that Mrs. Brinkly’s 
house is not likely to prove pleasant. It is in a 
closely built portion of the town, but it seemed the 
only place where we could find suitable accommoda- 
tions for your mother and you.” 

“Oh, it is a nice place ! ” exclaimed Cicely, “and I 
am sure we shall like it, except in hot weather such 
as we are having now. I have no doubt we shall get 
used to it after a little while.” 

“La Fleur does not think so,” said the doctor. 
“She is very much dissatisfied with the Brinkly 
establishment. I think I saw signs of mental disturb- 
ance in our luncheon to-day.” 

Cicely laughed. She was a girl who was pleasant 
to look at when she laughed, for her features accom- 
modated themselves so naturally to mirthful ex- 
pression. 

“It is almost funny,” she said, “to see how fond La 
194 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

Fleur is of mother. She lived with us less than a 
year, and yet one might suppose she had always been 
a servant of the family. I think one reason for her 
feeling is that mother never does anything. You 
know, she has never been used to do anything, and of 
late years she has not been well enough. La Fleur 
likes all that $ she thinks it is a mark of high degree. 
She told me once that my mother was a lady who was 
born to be served, and who ought not to be allowed 
to serve herself.” 

“She does not seem to object to your working,” 
remarked the doctor. 

“I am sure she does not like that, but then, she 
considers it a thing that cannot be helped. You 
know,” continued Cicely, with a smile, “she is not so 
particular about me, for I have some trade blood. 
Father’s father was a merchant.” 

“So you are only a grade aristocrat,” said the doc- 
tor. “But I must go. I will talk to Mrs. Tolbridge 
about this affair of lodgings.” 

That evening Mrs. Tolbridge and the doctor held a 
conference in regard to the quarters of the Dranes. 

“I think La Fleur concerns herself entirely too 
much in the matter,” said the lady. “She first came 
to me, and then she went to you. You have done a 
good deal for Mrs. Drane in giving her daughter em- 
ployment, and we cannot be expected to attend to 
her every need. I do not consider Mrs. Brinkly’s 
house a very pleasant one in hot weather, and I would 
be glad to do anything I could to establish them more 
pleasantly, but I know of nothing to do— at least, at 
present. And then, you say they have not complained. 
From what I have seen of Mrs. Drane, I think she is 
195 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


a very sensible woman, and, under the circumstances, 
probably expects some discomforts . 77 

“But that is not all that is to be considered , 77 said 
her husband. “La Fleur’s dissatisfaction, which is 
very evident, must be taken into the question. She 
has a scheming mind. Before she left this morning 
she asked me if I thought a little house could be 
gotten outside the town for a moderate rent. I be- 
lieve she would not hesitate to take such a house, and 
board and lodge the Dranes herself . 77 

“Doctor ! 77 exclaimed Mrs. Tolbridge, “whatever 
happens, I hope we are not going to be the slaves of 
a cook . 77 

The doctor laughed. 

“Whatever happens , 77 he said, “we are always that. 
All we can do is to try and be the slaves of a good 
one . 77 

“I am not altogether sure that that is the right way 
to look at it , 77 said Mrs. Tolbridge. And then she 
went on with her sewing, not caring to expatiate on 
the subject. Her husband appreciated only the ad- 
vantages of La Fleur, but she knew something of her 
disadvantages. The work on which she was engaged 
at that moment would have been done by the maid, 
had not that young woman’s services been so fre- 
quently required of late by the autocrat of the 
kitchen. 

The doctor sat silent for a few minutes. He had a 
kindly feeling for Mrs. Drane, and was willing to do 
all he could for her, but his thoughts were now princi- 
pally occupied with plans for the continuance of good 
living in his own home. 

“I suppose it would not be practicable , 77 he said 
196 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


presently, “to invite them to stay with us during the 
heated term.” 

Mrs. Tolbridge dropped her work into her lap. 

“That is not to be thought of for a moment,” she 
said. “We have no room for them, unless we give 
up having any more friends this summer. And, be- 
sides that, you would see La Fleur, with the other 
servants at her heels, devoting herself to the gratifi- 
cation of every want and notion of Mrs. Drane, and 
thinking no more of me than if I were a chair in a 
corner.” 

“We shall not have that,” said the doctor, rising 
and placing his hand on his wife’s head. “You may 
be sure we shall not have that. And now I will go 
and get a bit of my handwriting, and see if you can 
help me decipher it.” 

He left the room, but in an instant returned. 

“A happy thought has just struck me ! ” he ex- 
claimed. “I wonder if those young Haverley people 
would take Mrs. Drane into their house for the rest 
of the summer? It would be an excellent thing for 
them, for their household needs the presence of an 
elderly person, and I am sure that no one could be 
quieter, or more pleasant and less troublesome, than 
Mrs. Drane would be. What do you think of that 
idea ? ” 

Mrs. Tolbridge looked up approvingly. 

“It is not a bad one,” she said. “But what would 
the daughter do? She could not come into town 
every day to do your work. It is too long a walk for 
her, and she could not afford a conveyance.” 

“No,” said the doctor, “of course she could not go 
backward and forward every day, but it would not be 
197 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


necessary. She could take the work out there and do it 
as well as here, and she could come in now and then, 
when a chance offered, and ask me about the hard 
words, for which she could leave blanks. Or, if I 
happen to be in the neighborhood, I could stop in 
there and see how she was getting on. I would much 
rather arrange the business in that way than have 
her pop into my office at any moment to ask me about 
my illegible words.” 

“I should think the work could be done just as well 
out of the house as in it,” said the doctor’s wife, who 
would be willing to have again the use of the little 
room that she had cheerfully given up to the copyist 
of her husband’s book, which she, quite as earnestly 
as Miss Panney, desired to be given to the world. 

“The first thing to do,” said she, “is to make them 
acquainted. At first the Haverleys would not be 
likely to favor the plan. They no doubt consider 
themselves sufficient company for each other, and al- 
though a slight addition to their income would prob- 
ably be of advantage, I think they are too young and 
unpractical to care much about that.” 

“How would it do to have the Dranes and the 
Haverleys here, and give them a first-class La Fleur 
dinner ! ” asked the doctor. 

“I do not like that,” said his wife. “The intention 
would be too obvious. The thing should be done 
more naturally.” 

“Well,” said the doctor, “I wish we had Miss Panney 
here. She has a great capacity for rearranging and 
simplifying the circumstances of a complicated case.” 

Mrs. Tolbridge made no answer, but very intently 
examined her sewing. 


198 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“But if we can think of no deeply ingenious plan,” 
continued the doctor, “we will go about it in a 
straightforward way. I will see Ralph Haverley, and 
if I can win him over to the idea I will let him talk 
to his sister. He can do it better than we can. If 
they utterly reject the whole scheme, we will wait a 
week or so, and propose it again, just as if we had 
never done it before. I have found this plan work 
very well with persons who, on account of youth or 
some other reason, are given to resentment of sugges- 
tions and to quick decisions. When a rejected propo- 
sition is laid before them a second time, the disposition 
to resent has lost its force, and they are as likely to 
accept it as not.” 

“You are right,” said Mrs. Tolbridge, “for I have 
tried that plan with you.” 

The doctor looked at her and laughed. 

“It is astonishing,” he exclaimed, “what coinci- 
dences we meet with in this world ! ” And with that 
he left the room. 

As soon as her husband had gone, Mrs. Tolbridge 
leaned back in her chair and laughed quietly. 

“To think of asking Miss Panney to aid in a plan 
like that ! ” she said to herself. “Why, when the old 
lady hears of it she will blaze like fury. To send that 
pretty Cicely to live in the house for which she her- 
self has selected a mistress will seem to her like high 
treason. But the arrangement suits me perfectly, 
and I can only hope that Miss Panney may not hear 
of it until everything is settled.” 

The more Dr. Tolbridge thought of the plan to es- 
tablish Mrs. and Miss Drane, for a time, at Cobhurst, 
the better he liked it. Hot only did he think the 
199 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


arrangement would be a desirable one on the Drane 
side, but also on the Haverley side. From the first, 
he had taken a lively interest in Miriam, and he con- 
sidered that her life of responsibility and indepen- 
dence in that lonely household was as likely to warp 
her mind in some directions as it was to expand it in 
others. Suitable companionship would be a great 
advantage to her in this regard, and he fancied that 
Cicely Drane would be as congenial and helpful a 
chum, and Mrs. Drane as unobjectionable a matronly 
adviser, as could be found. If the plan suited all 
concerned, it might perhaps be continued beyond the 
summer. He would see Ralph as soon as possible. 


200 


CHAPTER XXII 
A TRESPASS 

Haying received permission to stop work at four 
o’clock on a beautiful summer afternoon, Cicely Drane 
put away her papers and walked rapidly home. She 
found her mother on Mrs. Brinkly’s front piazza, fan- 
ning herself vigorously, and watching some children 
who, on the other side of the narrow street, were 
feeding a tethered goat with clippings from a news- 
paper. 

After a few words to explain her early return, 
Cicely went up to her own room, and took from a 
drawer a little pocket-book, and, opening it, examined 
the money contained therein. Apparently satisfied 
with the result, she went down-stairs, wallet in hand. 

“Mother,” said she, “you must find it dreadfully 
hot and stupid here, and as this is a bit of a holiday, 
I intend we shall take a drive.” 

Mrs. Drane was about to offer some sort of eco- 
nomic objection, but before she could do so, Cicely 
was out of the little front yard, and hurrying toward 
the station, where there were always vehicles to be 
hired. 

She engaged the man who had the best-looking 
201 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


horse, and in a little open phaeton, a good deal the 
worse for wear, she returned to her mother. 

Andy Grilling, the driver, was a grizzled little man 
with twinkling eyes and a cheery air that seemed to 
indicate that an afternoon drive was as much a nov- 
elty and pleasure to him as it could possibly be to any 
two ladies— which was odd, considering that for the 
past forty years Andy had been almost constantly en- 
gaged in taking morning, afternoon, evening, and 
night drives. 

The only direction given him by Cicely was to take 
them along the prettiest country roads that he knew 
of, and this suited him well, for he not only consid- 
ered himself a good judge of scenery, but he knew 
which roads were easiest for his horse. 

As they travelled leisurely along, the ladies enjoy- 
ing the air, the fields, the sweet summer smells, the 
stretches of woods, the blue-and- white sky, and every- 
thing that goes to make a perfect summer afternoon, 
Andy endeavored to add to their pleasure by giving 
them information regarding the inhabitants of the 
various dwellings they passed. 

“That whitish house back there among the trees,” 
said he, “with the green blinds, is called the Witton 
place. The Wittons themselves are nothin’ out o’ 
the common, but there’s an old lady lives there with 
’em who, if you ever meet, you’ll know ag’in if you 
see her ag’in. Her name’s Panney,— Miss Panney,— 
and she’s a one-er. What she don’t know about me, 
I don’t know, and what she won’t know about you, 
three days after she gits acquainted with you, you 
don’t know. That’s the kind of a person Miss Panney 
is. There’s a lot of very nice people, some rich and 
202 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

some poor, and some queer, and some not quite so 
queer, that lives in and around Thorbury, and if you 
like it at Mrs. Brinkly’s, and conclude to stay there 
any length of time, I don’t doubt you’ll git acquainted 
with a good many of ’em ; but take my word for it, 
you’ll never meet anybody who can go ahead of Miss 
Panney in the way of turnin’ up unexpected. I once 
had a sick hoss, who couldn’t do much more than 
stand up, but I had to drive him one day, ’cause my 
other one was hired out. ‘Now,’ says I, as I drew out 
the stable, ‘if I can get around town this mornin’ 
without meetin’ Miss Panney, I think old Bob can do 
my work, and to-morrow I’ll turn him out to grass.’ 
But as I went around the first corner, there was Miss 
Panney, a-drivin’ her roan mare. She pulled up when 
she seed me, and she calls out, ‘Andy, what’s the 
matter with that hoss 1 ?’ I told her he was a little 
under the weather, but I had to use him that day, 
’cause my other hoss was out. Then she got straight 
out of that phaeton she drives in, and come up to my 
hoss, and says she, ‘Andy, you ought to be ashamed 
of yourself to make a hoss work when he is in a con- 
dition like that. Take him right back to your stable, 
or I’ll have you up before a justice.’ ‘Now, look here, 
Miss Panney,’ says I, ‘which is the best — for a hoss to 
jog a little round town when he ain’t feelin’ quite 
well, or for a man to sit idle on his front door-step and 
see his family starve?’ ‘Now, Andy,’ says she, ‘is 
that the case with you? ’ And havin’ brought up the 
p’int myself, I was obliged to say that it was. ‘Very 
good, then,’ said she, and she took her roan mare by 
the head and led it up to the curbstone. ‘Now, then,’ 
said she, ‘you can take your hoss out of the cab, and 
203 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


put this hoss in, and you can drive her till your hoss 
gets well, and durin’ that time Fll walk.’ 

“Well, of course I didn’t do that, and I took my 
hoss back to the stable, and my family didn’t starve, 
nuther. But I just tell you this to show you what 
sort of a woman Miss Panney is.” 

“I should think she was a very estimable person,” 
said Mrs. Drane. 

“Oh, there’s nothin’ the matter with her estimation,” 
said Andy. “That’s level enough. I only told you 
that to show you how you can always expect her to 
turn up unexpected.” 

“Mrs. Brinkly spoke of Miss Panney,” said Cicely. 
“She said that she was the first one to come and see 
her about rooms for us.” 

“That was certainly very kind,” said Mrs. Drane, 
“considering that she does not know us at all, except 
through Dr. Tolbridge. I remember his speaking of 
her.” 

“That place over there,” said Andy,— “you can jes 
see the tops of the chimneys,— that’s called Cobhurst. 
That’s where old Matthias Butterwood used to live. 
It was an awful big house for one man, but he was 
queer. There’s nobody livin’ there now but two 
young people— sort of temporary, I guess, though the 
place belongs to ’em. I don’t think they are any too 
well off. They don’t give us hack-drivers much cus- 
tom, never havin’ any friends cornin’ or goin’, or 
trunks, or anything. He’s got no other business, they 
say, and don’t know no more about farmin’ than a 
potato knows about preachin’. There’s nothin’ on 
the place that amounts to anything, except the barn. 
There’s a wonderful barn there, that old Butterwood 
204 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


spent nobody knows how much money on, and he a 
bachelor. You can’t see the barn from here, but I’ll 
drive you where you can get a good look at it.” 

In a few minutes he made a turn, and whipped up 
his horse to a better speed, and before Mrs. Drane and 
her daughter could comprehend the state of affairs, 
they were rolling over a not very well kept private 
road, and approaching the front of a house. 

“Where are you going, driver?” exclaimed Mrs. 
Drane, leaning forward in astonishment. 

Andy turned his beaming countenance upon her, 
and flourished his whip. 

“Oh, I’m jes goin’ to drive round the side of the 
house,” he said. “At the back there’s a little knoll 
where we can stop, and you can see the whole of the 
barn, with the three ways of gittin into it, one for 
each story.” At that moment they rolled past the 
front piazza, on which were Miriam and Balph, gazing 
at them in surprise. The latter had risen when he 
had heard the approaching carriage, supposing they 
were to have visitors. But as the vehicle passed the 
door he looked at his sister in amazement. 

“It can’t be,” said he, “that those people have 
come to visit Mike ? ” 

“Or Molly Tooney?” said Miriam. 

As for Mrs. Drane and Cicely, they were shocked. 
They had never been in the habit of driving into pri- 
vate grounds for the sake of seeing what might be 
there to see, and Mrs. Drane sharply ordered the 
driver to stop. 

“What do you mean,” said she, “by bringing us in 
here ? ” 

“Oh, that’s nothin’,” said Andy, with a genial grin. 

205 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“They won’t mind yonr cornin’ in to look at the barn. 
I’ve druv lots of people in here to look at that barn, 
though, to be sure, not since these young people has 
been livin’ here. But they won’t mind it an eighth of 
an inch.” 

“I shall get out and apologize,” said Mrs. Drane, 
“for this shameful intrusion, and then you must drive 
us out of the grounds immediately. We do not wish 
to stop to look at anything.” And, with this, she 
stepped from the little phaeton and walked back to 
the piazza. 

Stopping at the bottom of the steps, she saluted the 
brother and sister, whose faces showed that they were 
in need of some sort of explanation of her arrival at 
their domestic threshold. 

In a few words she explained how the carriage had 
happened to enter the grounds, and hoped that they 
would consider that the impropriety was due entirely 
to the driver, and not to any desire on their part to 
intrude themselves on private property for the sake 
of sight-seeing. Ralph and Miriam were both pleased 
with the words and manner of this exceedingly pleas- 
ant-looking lady. 

“I beg that you will not consider at all that you 
have intruded,” said Ralph. “If there is anything on 
our place that you would care to look at, I hope that 
you will do so.” 

“It was only the barn,” said Mrs. Drane, with a 
smile. “The man told us it was a peculiar building, 
but I supposed we could see it without entering your 
place. We will trespass no longer.” 

Ralph went down the steps, and Miriam followed. 

“Oh, you are perfectly welcome to look at the barn 
206 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


as much as you wish to,” he said. “In fact, we are 
rather proud to find that this is anything of a show- 
place. If the other lady will alight, I will be pleased 
to have you walk into the barn. The door of the 
upper floor is open, and there is a very fine view 
from the back.” 

Mrs. Drane smiled. 

“You are very good indeed,” she said, “to treat in- 
trusive strangers with such kindness, but I shall be 
glad to have you know that we are not mere tourists. 
We are, at present, residents of Thorbury. I am 
Mrs. Drane, and my daughter is engaged in assisting 
Dr. Tolbridge in some literary work.” 

“If you are friends of Dr. Tolbridge,” said Ralph, 
“you are more than welcome to see whatever there is 
to see on this place. The doctor is one of our best 
friends. If you like, I will show you the barn, and 
perhaps my sister will come with us.” 

Miriam, who for a week or more had been beset by 
the very unusual desire to see somebody and speak 
to somebody who did not live at Cobhurst, willingly 
agreed to assist in escorting the strangers, and, Cicely 
having joined the group, they all walked toward the 
barn. 

There were no self-introductions, Ralph merely 
acting as cicerone, and Miriam bringing up the rear 
in the character of occasional commentator. Mrs. 
Drane had accepted the young gentleman’s invitation 
because she felt that the most polite thing to do under 
the circumstances was to gratify his courteous desire 
to put them at their ease, and, being a lover of fine 
scenery, she was well rewarded by the view from the 
great window. 


207 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


The pride of possession began to glow a little within 
Ralph as he pointed out the features of this castle-like 
barn. Mrs. Drane agreed to his proposition to de- 
scend to the second floor. But as these two were 
going down the broad stairway, Cicely drew back, 
and, suddenly turning, addressed Miriam. 

“I have been wanting to ask a great many ques- 
tions / 7 she said, “but I have felt ashamed to do it. I 
have nearly always lived in the country, but I know 
hardly anything about barns and cows and stables and 
hay and all that. Do the hens lay their eggs up 
there in your hay?” 

Miriam smiled gravely. 

“It is very hard to find out,” she said, “where they 
do lay their eggs. Some days we do not get any at 
all, though I suppose they lay them, just the same. 
There is a hen-house, but they never go in there.” 

Cicely moved toward the stairway, and then she 
stopped. She cast her eyes toward the mass of hay in 
the mow above, and then she gave a little sigh. Mir- 
iam looked at her, and understood her perfectly— 
moreover, she pitied her. 

“How is it,” said she, as they went down the stairs, 
“that you lived in the country, and do not know about 
country things?” 

“We lived in suburbs,” she said. “I think suburbs 
are horrible ; they are neither one thing nor the other. 
We had a lawn and shade- trees, and a croquet- 
ground, and a tennis-court, but we bought our milk 
and eggs and most of our vegetables. There isn’t any 
real country in all that, you know. I was never in a 
haymow in my life. All I know about that sort of 
thing is from books.” 


208 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


When, with many thanks for the courtesies offered 
them, Mrs. Drane and her daughter had driven away, 
Miriam sat by herself on the piazza and thought. 
She had a good deal of time, now, to think, for Molly 
Tooney was a far more efficient servant than Phoebe 
had been, and although her brother gave her as much 
of his time as he could, she was of necessity left a 
good deal to herself. 

She began by thinking what an exceedingly gentle- 
manly man her brother was. In his ordinary work- 
ing clothes he had been as much at his ease with those 
ladies as though he had been dressed in a city cos- 
tume, which, however, would not have been nearly so 
becoming to him as his loose flannel shirt and broad 
straw hat. She then began to regret that her mind 
worked so slowly. If it had been quicker to act, she 
would have asked that young lady to come some day 
and go up in the haymow with her. It would be a 
positive charity to give a girl with longings, such as 
she saw that one had, a chance of knowing what real 
country life was. It would be pleasant to show things 
to a girl who really wanted to know about them. 
From this she began to think of Dora Bannister. 
Dora was a nice girl, but Miriam could not think of 
her as one to whom she could show or tell very much. 
Dora liked to do the showing and telling herself. 

U I truly believe,” said Miriam to herself,— and a 
slight flush came on her face,— “that, if she could have 
done it, she would have liked to stay here a week, and 
wear the teaberry gown all the time, and direct every- 
thing— although, of course, I would never have allowed 
that.” With a little contraction of the brows, she went 
into the hall, where she heard her brother’s step. 

209 


CHAPTEK XXIII 


THE HAVERLEY FINANCES AND MRS. ROBINSON 

“It bothers the head off of me / 7 said Molly Tooney 
to Mike, as she sat eating her supper in the Cobhurst 
kitchen, “to try to foind out what thim two up-stairs 
is loike, anyway, specially her. I 7 ve been here nigh 
onto two weeks, now, and I don’t know her no betther 
than when I fust come. For the life of me, I can’t 
make out whether she’s a gal-woman or a woman-gal. 
Sometimes she’s one and sometimes t’other. And 
then, there’s he. Why didn’t he marry and settle be- 
fore he took a house to himself? And in the two 
Sundays I’ve been here nather of thim’s been to 
church. If they knowed what was becomin’ to thim, 
they’d behave like Christians, if they are heretics.” 

Mike sat at a little table in the corner of the 
kitchen, with his back to Molly, eating his supper. 
He had enough of the Southern negro in him to make 
him dislike to eat with white people, or to turn his 
face toward anybody while partaking of his meals. 
But he also had enough of a son of Erin in him to 
make him willing to talk whenever he had a chance. 
Turning his head a little, he asked, “Xow, look-a here, 
Molly, if a man’s a heretic, how can he be a Chris- 
tian?” 


210 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“ There’s two kinds of heretics,” said Molly, filling 
her great teacup for the fourth time, and holding the 
teapot so that the last drop of the strong decoction 
should trickle into the cup, “ Christian heretics and 
hay then heretics. You’re one of the last koind your- 
silf, Mike, for you never go nigh a church, except to 
whitewash the walls of it. And you’ll never git no 
benefit to your own sowl from Phoebe’s boardin’ the 
minister, nather. Take my word for that, Mike.” 

Mike allowed himself a sort of froggy laugh. 
“ There’s nobody gets no good out of that but him,” 
said he. “But you’ve got it crooked about their not 
goin’ to church. They did go reg’lar at fust, but the 
gig’s at the wheelwright’s gettin’ new shafs.” 

“Gig, indeed!” ejaculated Molly. “No kirridge, 
but an auld gig ! There’s not much quality about 
thim two. I wouldn’t be here working for the loikes 
o’ thim, if it was not for me wish to oblige Miss Pan- 
ney, poor old woman as she’s gittin’ to be.” 

Mike shrewdly believed that it was due to Miss 
Panney’s knowledge of some of Molly’s misdeeds, and 
not to any desire to please the old lady, that the 
commands of the latter were law to the Irishwoman, 
but he would not say so. 

“Kerridge or no kerridge,” said he, “they’re good 
’nough quality for me, and I reckon I knows what 
quality is. They ain’t got much money, that’s sure, 
but there’s lots of quality that ain’t got money. And 
he’s got sense, and that’s better than money. When 
he fust come here, I jes goes to him, and sez I, ‘ How’s 
you goin’ to run this farm, sir — ramshackle or 
reg’lar ? ’ He looked at me kinder bothered, and then 
I ’splained. ‘Well,’ said he, ‘reg’lar will cost more 
211 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


money than I’ve got, and I reckon we’ll have to run 
it ramshackle.’ That’s what we did, and we’re gittin’ 
along fust-rate. He works and I work, and what we 
ain’t got no time to do, we let stand jes thar till we 
git time to ’tend to it. That’s ramshackle. We don’t 
spend no time on fancy fixin’s, and not much money 
on nothin’.” 

“ That’s jes what I’ve been thinkin’ mesilf,” said 
Molly. “I don’t see no signs of money bein’ spint on 
this place, nather for one thing or another.” 

“You don’t always have to spend money to get 
craps,” said Mike. “Look at our corn and pertaters. 
They is fust-rate, and when we sends our craps to 
market, there won’t be much to take for ’spenses out 
of what we git.” 

“Craps !” said Molly, with a sneer. “If* you hauls 
your weeds to market, it’ll take more wagons than 
you can hire in this country, and thim’s the only craps 
my oi has lit on yit.” 

This made Mike angry. He was, in general, a good- 
natured man, but he had a high opinion of himself 
as a farm manager, and on this point his feelings were 
very sensitive. As was usual with him when he lost 
his temper, he got up without a word and went out. 

“Bedad ! ” said Molly, looking about her, “I wouldn’t 
have sid that to him if I’d seed there wasn’t no kin- 
dlin’ shplit.” 

As Mike walked toward his own house, he was sur- 
prised to see, entering a little-used gateway near the 
barn, a horse and carriage. It was now so dark he 
could not see who occupied it, and he stood wondering 
why it should enter that gateway, instead of coming 
by the main entrance. As he stood there, the equi- 
212 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


page came slowly on, and presently stopped in front 
of his little house. By the time he reached it, Phoebe, 
his wife, had alighted, and was waiting for him. 

“Reckon yon is surprised to see me,” said she, and 
then, turning to the negro man who drove the shabby 
hired vehicle, she told him that he might go over to 
the barn and tie his horse, for she would not be ready 
to go back for some time. She then entered the 
house with Mike, and, a candle having been lighted, 
she explained her unexpected appearance. She had 
met Miss Dora Bannister, and that young lady had 
engaged her to go to Cobhurst and take a note to 
Miss Miriam. 

“She toP me,” said Phoebe, “that she had wrote 
two times already to Miss Miriam, and then, havin’ 
suspected somethin’, had gone to the pos’-office and 
found they was still dar. Don’t your boss ever sen’ to 
the pos’-office, Mike?” 

“He went hisself every now and then, till the gig 
was broke,” said Mike, “but I don’t believe he ever 
got nothin’, and I reckon they thought it was no use 
botherin’ about sendin’ me, special, in the wagon.” 

“Well, they’re uncommon queer folks,” said Phoebe. 
“I reckon they’ve got nobody to write to, or git let- 
ters from. Anyway, Miss Dora wanted her letter to 
git here, and so she says to me that if I’d take it, she’d 
pay the hire of a hack, and so, as I wanted to see you 
anyway, Mike, I ’greed quick enough.” 

Before delivering the letter with which she had 
been intrusted, Phoebe proceeded to attend to some 
personal business, which was to ask her husband to 
lend her five dollars. 

“Bless my soul ! ” said Mike, “I ain’t got no five 
213 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


dollars. I ain’t asked for no wages yit, and don’t ex- 
pect to till the craps is sold.” 

“I can’t wait for that ! ” exclaimed Phoebe. “I’s 
got to have money to carry on the house.” 

“Whar’s the money the preacher pays you? ” asked 
her husband. 

“Dat’s a-comin’,” said Phoebe, “dat’s a-comin’ all 
right. Thar’s to be a special c’lection next Sunday 
mornin’, and the money’s goin’ to pay the minister’s 
board. I’m to git every cent what’s owin’ to me, 
and I reckon it’ll take it all.” 

“He ain’t paid you nothin’ yit, thin?” 

“Hot yit. There was another special c’lection had 
to be tuk up fust, but the next one’s for me. Can’t 
you go ask your boss for five dollars ? ” 

“Oh, yes,” said Mike. “He’ll give it to me if I ask 
him. Look here, Phoebe, we might’s well git all the 
good we kin out of five dollars, and I reckon I’ll come 
to chu’ch next Sunday, and put the five dollars in the 
c’lection. I’ll git the credit of givin’ a big lot of 
money, and that’ll set me up a long time wid the con- 
gregation, and you git the five dollars all the same.” 

“Mike,” said Phoebe, solemnly, “don’t you go and 
do dat. Mind, I tell you, don’t you do dat. You give 
me them five dollars, and jes let that c’lection alone. 
Ho use you wearin’ you’self out a- walkin’ to chu’ch, 
and all the feedin’ and milkin’ to do besides.” 

Mike laughed. “I reckon you think five dollars 
in the pahm of the hand is better than a whole c’lec- 
tion in the bush. I’ll see the boss before you go, and 
if he’s got the money he’ll let me have it.” 

Satisfied on this point, Phoebe now declared that 
she must go and deliver her letter. But she first in- 
214 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


quired how her husband was getting on, and how he 
was treated by Molly Tooney. 

“I ain’t got no use for that woman.” And he pro- 
ceeded to tell his wife of the insult that had been 
passed on his crops. 

“ That’s brazen impidence,” said Phoebe, “and jes 
like her. But look here, Mike, don’t you quarrel 
with the cook. No matter what happens, don’t you 
quarrel with the cook.” 

“I ain’t goin’ to quarrel with nobody,” said Mike. 
“But if that Molly ’spects me to grease her wagon 
wheels for her, she’s got hold of the wrong man. If 
she likes green wood for the kitchen fire, and fotchin’ 
it mos’ times for herself, that’s her business, not mine.” 

“If you do that, Mike, she’ll leave,” said Phoebe. 

Mike gave himself a general shrug. 

“She can’t leave,” said he, “till Miss Panney tells 
her she kin.” 

Phoebe laughed and rose. 

“Reckon I’ll go in and see Miss Miriam,” she said, 
“and while I’m doin’ that you’d better ask the boss 
about the money.” 

Having delivered the letter, and having, with much 
suavity, inquired into the health and general condi- 
tion of the Cobhurst family since she had walked off 
and left it to its own resources, and having given 
Miriam various points of information in regard to the 
Bannister and the Tolbridge families, Phoebe grace- 
fully took leave of the young mistress of the house 
and proceeded to call upon the cook. 

“Hi, Phoebe ! ” cried Molly, who was engaged in 
washing dishes, “how did you git here at this time o’ 
night ? ” 


215 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“I’d have yon know,” said the visitor, with lofty 
dignity, “that my name is Mrs. Robinson, and if yon 
want to know how I got here, I came in a kerridge.” 

“I didn’t hear no kirridge drive up,” said Molly. 

“Humph ! ” said Mrs. Robinson, “I reckon I know 
which gate is proper for my kerridge to come in, and 
which gate is proper for the Bannister coachman to 
drive in. I suppose there is cooks that would drive 
up to the front door if the governor’s kerridge was 
standin’ there.” 

Molly looked at the colored woman with a grin. 

“You’re on your high hoss, Mrs. Robinson,” said 
she. “That’s what comes o’ boardin’ the minister. 
That’s lofty business, Mrs. Robinson, and I expect 
you’re afther gittin’ rich. Is it the gilt-edged butter 
you give him for his ash-cakes? ” 

“A pusson that’s pious,” said Phoebe, “don’t want 
to get rich onter a minister of the gospel—” 

“Which would be wearin’ on their hopes if they 
did,” interrupted Molly. 

“But I can tell you this,” continued Phoebe, more 
sharply : “that it isn’t as if I was a Catholic, and 
boardin’ a priest, and had to go on Wednesdays and 
confess back to him all the money he paid me on 
Tuesdays.” 

Molly laughed aloud. “We don’t confess money, 
Mrs. Robinson : we confess sins. But perhaps you 
think money is a sin, and if that’s so, this house is the 
innocentest place I ever lived in. Sit down, Mrs. 
Robinson, and be friendly. I want to ax you a ques- 
tion. Has thim two up -stairs got any money? What 
made you pop off so sudden? Didn’t they pay your 
wages ? ” 


216 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

Phoebe seated herself on the edge of a chair, and 
sat np very straight. She felt that the answer to this 
question was a very important one. She herself cared 
nothing for the Haverleys, but Mike lived with them, 
and was their head man, and it was not consistent 
with her position among the members of the congre- 
gation and in the various societies to which she be- 
longed, that her husband should be in the employ of 
poor and consequently unrespected people. 

“My wages was paid, every cent,” she said, “and as 
to their money, I can tell you one thing that I heard 
him say to his sister with my own ears— that he was 
goin’ to build a town on them meaders, with streets 
and chu’ches, and stores on the corners of the block, 
and a libr’y and a bank, and she said she wouldn’t 
object if he left the trees standin’ between the house 
and the meaders, so that they could see the steeples 
and nothin’ else. And, more than that, I can tell you,” 
said Phoebe, warming as she spoke, “the Bannister 
family isn’t, and never was, intimate with needy and 
no-’count families, and nobody could be more sociable 
and friendly with this family than Miss Dora is, 
writin’ to her four or five times a week, and, as I said 
to Mike not ten minutes ago, if Mr. Haverley and 
Miss Dora should git married, her money and his 
money would make this the finest place in the county, 
and I tol’ him to mind an’ play his cards well, and stay 
here as butler or coachman— I didn’t care which ; and 
he said he would like coachman best, as he was used 
to hosses.” 

Now, considering that the patience of her own 
coachman must be pretty nearly worn out, and be- 
lieving that what she had said would inure to her 
217 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


own reputation, and probably to Mike’s benefit as 
well, and that its force might be impaired by any 
further discussion of the subject, Phoebe arose and 
took a dignified leave. 

Molly stood some moments in reflection. 

“Bedad ! ” she said aloud, “to-morrer I’ll clane thim 
lamp-chimbleys and swape the bidrooms.” 


218 


CHAPTER XXIY 


THE DOCTOR’S MISSION 

The letter which Phoebe brought was a long and cor- 
dial one, in which Dora begged that Miriam would 
come and make her a visit of a few days. She said, 
moreover, that her brother was intending to call on 
Mr. Haverley and urge him to come to their house as 
frequently as he could during his sister’s visit. Dora 
said that she would enjoy having Miriam with her so 
very, very much, and although the life at the dear 
old farm must be always charming, she believed that 
Miriam would like a little change, and she would do 
everything that she could to make the days pass 
pleasantly. 

There could not have been a more cordial invita- 
tion, but its acceptance was considered soberly and 
without enthusiasm. 

During the past fortnight there had been no inter- 
course between the Bannister and Haverley families. 
Dora, it is true, had written, but her letters had not 
been called for, and Ralph had not been to her house 
to inquire about the dog. The reason for this was 
that, turning over the matter in his mind for a day 
or two, he thought it well to mention it to Miriam in 
219 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


a casual way, for he perceived that it would be very 
unwise for him to go to Dora’s house without inform- 
ing his sister and giving her his reasons for the visit. 
To his surprise, Miriam strenuously opposed his going 
to the Bannister house on any pretence until Mr. 
Bannister had called upon him, and showed so much 
earnest feeling on the subject that he relinquished his 
intention. He could see for himself that it would not 
be the proper thing to do. And so he waited, with 
more impatience on rainy days than others, for Mr. 
Herbert Bannister to call upon him. 

On nearly every morning of the two weeks, Dora 
asked her brother at breakfast-time if he were going 
that day to call at Cobhurst ; and every time she 
asked him, Herbert answered that he would go that 
day, if he possibly could. But on each evening he in- 
formed her that at the hour he had intended to start 
for Cobhurst a client or clients had come into the 
office, or a client or clients had been in the office and 
had remained there. A very busy man was Mr. 
Bannister ! 

Miriam’s opinion on the subject had been varied. 
She frequently felt in her lonely moments that it 
would be a joy to see Dora Bannister drive in at the 
gate. 

“If only,” thought Miriam, with a sigh, “she would 
content herself to be a visitor to me, just as I would 
be to her, and not go about contriving things she 
thinks Ralph would like— as if it were necessary that 
any one should come here and do that ! As for going 
to her house, that would leave poor Ralph here all by 
himself, or else he would be there a good deal, and — ” 

Here a happy thought struck Miriam. 

220 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“I can’t go, anyway,” she said aloud, “for the gig 
is broken.” And, her brother coming in at that mo- 
ment, she informed him, with an air of much relief, 
how the matter had settled itself. 

“But I don’t like matters to settle themselves in 
that way,” said Ralph. “The gig should certainly be 
in order by this time. I will go myself and see the 
man about it, and if the new shafts are not finished, I 
can hire a carriage for you. There is no need of your 
giving up a pleasant visit for the want of means of 
conveyance.” 

“But even if the gig were all ready for us to use, 
you know that you could not go until Mr. Bannister 
has called,” said the cruel-minded sister. 

Ralph was of the opinion that there were certain 
features of social etiquette which ought to be ruth- 
lessly trodden upon, but he could think of nothing 
suitable to say in regard to the point so frequently 
brought up by Miriam, and, walking somewhat 
moodily to the front door, he saw Dr. Tolbridge 
approaching in his buggy. 

The good doctor had come out of his way, and on a 
very busy morning, to lay before the Haverleys his 
project concerning Mrs. Drane and her daughter. 
Having but little time, he went straight to the point, 
and surprised Miriam and Ralph as much as if he had 
proposed to them to open a summer hotel. But, 
without regard to the impression he had made, he 
boldly proceeded in the statement of his case. 

“You couldn’t find pleasanter ladies than Mrs. 
Drane and her daughter,” he said. “The latter is 
copying some manuscript for me, which she could do 
just as well here as at my house—” 

221 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“Are you talking about the two ladies who were 
here yesterday afternoon ? 77 interrupted Miriam. 

“Here yesterday afternoon ! 77 cried the doctor, and 
now it was his turn to be surprised. 

When he had heard the story of the trespass on 
private grounds, the doctor laughed heartily. 

“Well / 7 said he, “Mistress Fate has been ahead of 
me. The good lady is in the habit of doing that sort 
of thing. And now that you know the parties in 
question, what have you to say ? 77 

Miriam 7 s blood began to glow a little, and as she 
gazed out of the open door without looking at any- 
thing, her eyes grew very bright. In her loneliness, 
she had been wishing that Dora Bannister would drive 
in at the gate, and here was a chance to have a very 
different sort of a girl drive in— a girl to whom she 
had taken a great fancy, although she had seen her 
for so short a time. 

“Would they want to stay long ? 77 she asked, with- 
out turning her head. 

The doctor saw his opportunity and embraced it. 

“That would be your affair entirely , 77 he said. “If 
they came for only a week, it would be to you no 
more than a visit from friends, and to breathe this 
pure country air for even that time would be a great 
pleasure and advantage to them both . 77 

Miriam turned her bright eyes on her brother. 

“What do you say, Ralph ? 77 she asked. 

* The lord of Cobhurst, who had allowed his sister 
to tell of the visit of the Dranes, had been thinking 
what a wonderful piece of good luck it would have 
been if, instead of these strangers, Dora Bannister 
and her family had desired to find quarters in a pleas- 
222 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


ant country house for a few summer weeks. He did 
not know her family, nor did he allow himself to con- 
sider the point that said family was accustomed to an 
expensive style of living and accommodation, entirely 
unlike anything to be found on a ramshackle farm. 
He only thought how delightful it would be if it were 
Dora who wanted to come to Cobhurst. 

As Ralph looked upon the animated face of his sis- 
ter, it was easy enough to see that the case as pre- 
sented by the doctor interested her very much, and 
that she was awaiting his answer with an eagerness 
that somewhat surprised him. 

“And you, little one— would you like to have these 
ladies come to us ? ” 

“Yes, I would,” said Miriam, and then she stopped. 
There was much more she could have said, which 
crowded itself into her mind so fast that she could 
scarcely help saying it, but it would have been con- 
trary to the inborn spirit of the girl to admit that she 
ever felt lonely in this dear home, or that, with a 
brother like Ralph, she ever craved the companionship 
of a girl. But it was not necessary to say any more. 

“If you want them, they shall come,” said Ralph, 
and if it had been the Tolbridges or Miss Panney whose 
society his sister desired, his assent would have been 
given just as freely. 

In fifteen minutes everything was settled and the 
doctor was driving away. He was in good spirits over 
the results of his mission, for that morning La Fleur 
had waylaid him as he went out, and again had spoken 
to him about the possibility of hiring a little house in 
the suburbs. 

“I am sure this arrangement will suit our good 
223 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


cook/’ he thought. “But as for its continuance, we 
must let time and circumstances settle that.” 

The doctor reached home about eleven o’clock. 

“What do you think it would be better to do,” he 
said to his wife, when he had made his report, — “to 
stop at Mrs. Drane’s as I go out this afternoon, or to 
tell Cicely about our Cobhurst scheme, and let her 
tell her mother ? ” 

“The thing to do,” said Mrs. Tolbridge, closing her 
desk, at which she was writing, “is for me to go and 
see Mrs. Drane immediately, and for you to send 
Cicely home and give her a lot of work to do at Cob- 
hurst. They should go there this afternoon.” 

“Yes,” said the doctor. “Of course, the sooner the 
better. But it has struck me perhaps it might be 
well to mention the matter to Miss Pantiey before the 
Dranes actually leave Mrs. Brinkly. You know, she 
was very active in procuring that place for them.” 

Mrs. Tolbridge looked at her husband, gave a little 
sigh, and then smiled. 

“What is your opinion of a bird,” she asked, “who, 
flying to the shelter of the woods, thinks it would be 
a good idea to stop for a moment and look down the 
gun-barrel of a sportsman, to see what is there ? ” 

The doctor looked at her for a moment, and then, 
catching her point, gave her a hearty laugh for an- 
swer, and, walking to his table, took up a sheet of 
manuscript and carried it to the room where Miss 
Drane was working. 

“The passage which so puzzled you,” he said, “has 
been deciphered by Mrs. Tolbridge and myself, and 
reads thus : ‘ The philosophy of physiological contrasts 
grows.’ ” 


224 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

“Why, yes/’ said Cicely, looking at the paper. 
“Now that you tell me what it is, it is as plain as can 
be. I will write it in the blank space that I have 
left. And here are some more words that I would 
like to ask you about.” 

“Not now, not now,” said the doctor. “I want 
you to stop work and run home. As soon as I can, I 
will talk with you about what you have written, and 
give you some more of the manuscript. But no more 
work for to-day. You must hurry to your mother. 
You will find Mrs. Tolbridge there, talking to her 
about a change of quarters.” 

“Another holiday ! ” exclaimed Cicely, in surprise. 

She was a girl who worked earnestly and conscien- 
tiously, with the intention of earning every cent of the 
money which was paid to her, and these successive 
intermissions of work seemed to her unbusiness-like. 
But she made no objections, and, putting away her 
papers with a sigh, for she had a list of points about 
which she was ready and anxious to consult the doc- 
tor, she went to join the consultation, which she 
presumed concerned their removal from one street in 
Thorbury to another. But when she discovered the 
heavenly prospect which had opened before her 
mother and herself, her mind bounded from all 
thoughts of the manuscript of the “Diagnosis of Sym- 
pathy,” as if it had been a lark mounting to the sky. 


225 


CHAPTER XXY 


BOMBSHELLS AND BROMIDE 

About noon on the next day, Mrs. Tolbridge sat down 
at her desk to finish the writing of the letter which 
had been so abruptly broken off the day before. She 
had been very busy that afternoon and a part of this 
morning, assisting Mrs. Drane and her daughter in 
their removal from a hot street in a little town to the 
broad freedom and fine air of a spacious country 
home. 

And this change had given so much pleasure to all 
parties concerned that it was natural that so good a 
woman as Mrs. Tolbridge should feel a glow of satis- 
faction in thinking of the part she had taken in it. 

She was satisfied in more ways than one. It was 
agreeable to her to assist in giving pleasure to others, 
but, besides this, she had a little satisfaction which 
was peculiarly her own : she was pleased that that 
very pretty and attractive Cicely would now work for 
the doctor, instead of working so much with him. 
Of course, she was willing to give up the little room, if 
it were needed, but it was a great deal pleasanter not 
to have it needed. 

“It is so seldom,” she thought, as she lifted the lid 

226 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


of her desk, “that things can be arranged so as to 
please everybody.” 

At this moment she glanced through the open win- 
dow and saw Miss Panney at the front gate. Closing 
her desk, Mrs. Tolbridge pushed back her chair, her 
glow of satisfaction changing into a little chill. 

“Is the doctor at home?” she inquired of the ser- 
vant who was passing the door, and on receiving the 
negative reply, the chilly feeling increased. 

Miss Panney was in a radiant humor. She seated 
herself in her favorite rocking-chair. She laid her 
fan on the table near her, and her reticule by it, and 
she pushed back from her shoulders a little India 
shawl. 

“I am treating myself,” she said, “to a regular gala- 
day. In the first place, I intend to stay here to 
luncheon. People who have a La Fleur must expect 
to see their friends at their table much oftener than 
if they had a Biddy in the kitchen. That is one of 
the penalties of good fortune. I have my cap in my 
bag, and as soon as I have cooled a little I will take 
off my bonnet and shawl. This afternoon I am going 
to see the Banisters, and after that I intend to call on 
Mrs. Drane and her daughter. I put off that until 
the last, in order that Miss Drane may be at home. I 
ought to have called on them before, considering that 
I did so much in getting them established in Thor- 
bury,— I am sure Mrs. Brinkly would not have taken 
them if I had not talked her into it,— but one thing 
and another has prevented my going there. But I 
have seen Miss Drane. I came to town yesterday in 
the Witton carriage, and saw her in the street. She 
is certainly a pretty little thing, and dresses with 
227 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


much taste. We all thought her face was very sweet 
and attractive. We had a good look at her, for she 
was waiting for our carriage to pass, in order to cross 
the street. I told Jim, the driver, to go slowly, for I 
like to have a good look at people before I know 
them. And by the way, Kitty, an idea comes into my 
head.” And as she said this, the old lady’s eyes twin- 
kled, and a little smile stole over the lower part of 
her wrinkled face. “ Perhaps you may not like the 
doctor to have such an extremely pretty secretary. 
Perhaps you may have preferred her to have a stubby 
nose and a freckled face. How is that, Kitty f ” 

“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Tolbridge. “It makes no 
manner of difference what sort of a face a secretary 
has. Her handwriting is much more important.” 

“Oh,” said Miss Panney, “I am glad to hear that. 
And how does she get on? ” 

“Very well indeed,” was the answer. “The doctor 
seems satisfied with her work.” 

“That is nice,” said Miss Panney. “And how do 
they like it at Mrs. Brinkly’s? I saw their rooms, 
which are neatly furnished, and Mrs. Brinkly keeps a 
very good table. I have taken many a meal at her 
house.” 

Had there been a column of mercury at Mrs. Tol- 
bridge’s back, it would have gone down several de- 
grees as she prepared to answer Miss Panney’s 
question. She did not exactly hesitate, but she was 
so slow in beginning to speak that Miss Panney, who 
was untying her bonnet-strings, had time to add re- 
flectively, “Yes, they are sure to find her a good 
landlady.” 

“The Dranes are not with Mrs. Brinkly now,” said 
228 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Mrs. Tolbridge. “They left yesterday afternoon, al- 
though some of their things were not sent away until 
this morning.” 

The old lady’s hands dropped from her bonnet- 
strings to her lap. 

“Left Mrs. Brinkly ! ” she exclaimed. “And where 
have they gone f ” 

“To Cobhurst, where they will board for a while, 
during the hot weather. They found it very close 
and uncomfortable in that part of the town, with the 
mercury in the eighties.” 

Miss Panney sat up tall and straight. Her eyes 
grew bigger and blacker as with her mental vision 
she glared upon the situation. Presently she spoke, 
and her voice sounded as if she were in a great empty 
cask, with her mouth at the bung-hole. 

“Who did this?” she asked. 

Mrs. Tolbridge was glad to talk,— it suited her 
much better at this time to do the talking than for 
her companion to do it,— and she proceeded quite 
volubly : 

“Oh, we all thought the change would be an excel- 
lent thing for them, especially for Mrs. Drane, who is 
not strong $ and as they had seen Cobhurst, and were 
charmed with the place, and as the Haverleys were 
quite willing to take them for a little while, it seemed 
an excellent thing all round. It was, however, our 
cook, La Fleur, who was the chief mover in the mat- 
ter. She was very much opposed to their staying 
with Mrs. Brinkly, — you see, she had lived with them, 
and has quite an affection for them,— and actually 
went so far as to talk of taking a, house in the country 
and boarding them herself. And you know, Miss 
229 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Panney, how bad it would be for the doctor to lose 
La Fleur.” 

“Did the doctor have anything to do with this?” 
asked Miss Panney. 

Now Mrs. Tolbridge did hesitate a little. 

“ Yes,” she said, “he spoke to the Haverleys about it. 
He thought it would be an excellent thing for them.” 

Miss Panney rose, with her face as hard as granite. 
She drew her shawl about her shoulders, and took up 
her fan and bag. Mrs. Tolbridge also rose, much 
troubled. 

“You must not imagine for a minute, Miss Panney,” 
she said, “that the doctor had the slightest idea that 
this removal would annoy you. In fact, he spoke 
about consulting you in regard to it, and had he 
seen you before the affair was settled, I am sure he 
would have done so. You must not think, either, that 
the doctor urged the Haverleys to take these ladies 
simply because he wished to keep La Fleur. He 
values her most highly, but he thought of others than 
himself. He spoke particularly of the admirable in- 
fluence Mrs. Drane would have on Miriam.” 

The old lady turned her flashing eyes on Mrs. Tol- 
bridge, and, slightly lowering her head, she almost 
screamed these words : “Blow to the top of the sky 
Mrs. Drane’s influence on Miriam ! What do I care 
for that?” 

Then she turned and walked out of the parlor, 
followed by Mrs. Tolbridge. At the front door she 
stopped, and turned her wrathful and inexorable 
countenance upon the doctor’s wife. Then she delib- 
erately shook her skirts, stamped her feet, and went 
out of the door. 


230 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


When Dr. Tolbridge heard what had happened, he 
was sorely troubled. “I must go to see her/’ he said. 
“I cannot allow her to remain in that state of mind. 
I think I can explain the affair, and make her look at 
it more as we do, although I must admit, now that I 
recall some things she recently said to me, that she 
may have some grave objections to Cicely’s residence 
at Cobhurst. But I shall see her, and I think I can 
pacify her.” 

Mrs. Tolbridge was not so hopeful as her husband. 
He had not seen Miss Panney at the front door. But 
she could not bring herself to regret the advice she 
had given him when he proposed consulting Miss 
Panney in regard to the Drones’ removal. 

“I shall never object to La Fleur,” she said to her- 
self. “I will bear all her impositions and queernesses 
for the sake of his health and pleasure. But I cannot 
give up my little room to Cicely Drane.” 

That very hour she caused to be replaced in the 
said room the desk and other appurtenances which 
had been taken out when the room had been arranged 
for the secretary. 

These changes had hardly been made when Dora 
Bannister called. 

“Miss Panney was at our house to-day,” said the 
girl, “and I cannot imagine what was the matter with 
her. I never saw anybody in such a state of mind.” 

“What did she say?” asked Mrs. Tolbridge. 

“She said very little, and that was one of the stran- 
gest things about her. But she sat and stared and 
stared and stared at me, as if I were some sort of 
curiosity on exhibition, and did not answer anything 
I said to her. I was awfully nervous, though I knew 
231 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


from the few words she had said that she was not 
angry with me. But she kept on staring and staring 
and staring, and then she suddenly leaned forward 
and put her arms around me and kissed me. Then 
she sat back in her chair again, slapped her two hands 
upon her knees, and said, speaking to herself, ‘It 
shall be done— I am a fool to have a doubt about it.’ 
And then she went without another word. How, was 
not that simply amazing? Did she come here, and 
did she act in that way ? ” 

“She was here,” said Mrs. Tolbridge, “but she did 
not do anything so funny as that.” 

“Well, I suppose I shall find out some day what 
she means,” said Dora. “And now, Mrs. Tolbridge, I 
did not come altogether to see you this afternoon. I 
hope Miss Drane has not gone home yet, for I thought 
it would be nice to meet her here. Mother and I are 
going to call on them, but I do not know when that 
will be. And I have heard so much about the doc- 
tor’s secretary that I am perishing to see her. They 
say she is very pretty and bright. I wanted mother 
to go there to-day, but we have had a long drive this 
morning, and to-morrow she and I and Herbert are 
going to call at Cobhurst ; and you know mother will 
never consent to crowd things. And so I thought I 
would come here this afternoon by myself. It won’t 
be like a call, you know.” 

“Miss Drane is not here,” said Mrs. Tolbridge. 
“But if you want to see her, you can do it to-mor- 
row, if you go to Cobhurst. She and her mother are 
now living there, boarding with the Haverleys.” 

“Living at Cobhurst!” exclaimed Dora, and as 
she uttered these words the girl turned pale. 

232 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“Heavens ! ” mentally ejaculated the doctor’s wife. 
“I do nothing this day but explode bombshells.” 

In a moment Dora recovered nearly all her color, 
and laughed. 

“It is so funny,” she said, “that all sorts of things 
happen in this town without our knowing it. Is she 
still going to be the doctor’s secretary ? ” 

“Yes. She can do her work out there as well as 
here.” 

Dora looked out of the window as if she saw some- 
thing in the garden, and Mrs. Tolbridge charitably 
took her out to show her some new dahlias. 

Early the next morning, Dr. Tolbridge drove into 
the Witt on yard. No matter who waited for him, 
he would not delay this visit. When he asked for 
Miss Panney, he had a strong idea that the old lady 
would refuse to see him. But in an astonishingly 
short space of time, she marched into the parlor, 
every war-flag flying, and closed the door behind 
her. 

Without shaking hands or offering the visitor any 
sort of salutation, she seated herself in a chair in the 
middle of the room. “Now,” said she, “don’t lose 
any time in saying what you have got to say.” 

Not encouraged by this reception, the doctor could 
not instantly arrange what he had to say. But he 
shortly got his ideas into order, and proceeded to lay 
the case in its most favorable light before the old lady, 
dwelling particularly on the reasons why she had not 
been consulted in the affair. 

Miss Panney heard him to the end without a change 
in the rigidity of her face and attitude. “Very well, 
then,” she said, when he had finished, “I see exactly 
233 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


what yon have done. You have thrown me aside for 
a cook.” 

“Not at all ! ” exclaimed the doctor. “I had no 
idea of throwing you aside. In fact, Miss Panney, I 
never thought of you in the matter at all.” 

“Exactly, exactly,” said the old lady, with emphatic 
sharpness. “You never thought of me at all. That is 
the sum and substance of what you have done. I 
gave you my confidence. I told you my intentions, 
my hopes, the plan which was to crown and finish the 
work of my life. I told you I would make the grand- 
son of the only man I ever loved my heir, and I would 
do this because I wished him to marry the daughter 
of the man who was my best friend on earth. The 
marriage of these two, and the union of the estate of 
Cobhurst with the wealth of the Bannisters, was a 
project which, as I told you, had grown dear to my 
heart, and for which I was thinking and dreaming 
and working. All this you knew, and without a 
word to me, and, if you speak the truth, all for the 
sake of your wretched stomach, you clap into Cob- 
hurst a girl who will be engaged to Ralph Haverley 
in less than a month.” 

The doctor moved impatiently in his chair. 

“Nonsense, Miss Panney. Cicely Drane will not 
harm your plans. She is a sensible, industrious girl, 
who attends to her own business, and — ” 

“Precisely,” said Miss Panney. “And her own 
business will be to settle for life at Cobhurst. She 
may not be courting young Haverley to-day, but she 
will begin to-morrow. She will do it, and, what is 
more, she would be a fool if she did not. It does not 
matter what sort of a girl she is,”— and now Miss 
234 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Panney began to speak louder, and stood up,— “it 
does not matter if she had five legs and two heads, 
yon have no right to thrust any intruder into a house- 
hold which I had taken into my charge, and for 
which I had my plans, all of which you knew. You 
are a false friend, Dr. Tolbridge, and at your door-step 
I have shaken the dust from my skirts and my feet.” 
And, with a quick step and a high head, she marched 
out of the room. 

The doctor took a little book out of his pocket, and 
on a blank leaf wrote the following : 

“ft 

Potass, bromid. . . . 3iij 

Tr. dig. natis iflxxx 

Tr. lavand. comp. . . ad.|iij 

Mx. Sig. teaspoonful every three hours. 

“ H. T.” 

Having sent this to Miss Panney by a servant, he 
went his way. Driving along, his conscience stung 
him a little when he thought of the fable his wife 
had told him ; but the moral of the fable had made 
but little impression upon him, and as an antidote 
to the sting he applied his conviction that match- 
making was a bad business, and that in love-affairs, 
as well as in many diseases, the very best thing to do 
was to let nature take its course. 

When Miss Panney read the paper which had been 
sent to her, her eyes flashed, and then she laughed. 

“The wretch ! ” she exclaimed. “It is just like 
him.” And in the afternoon she sent to her apothe- 
cary in Thorbury for the medicine prescribed. “If 
it cools me down,” she said to herself, “I shall be able 
to work better.” 


235 


CHAPTER XXVI 


DORA COMES AND SEES 

The call by the Bannisters at Cobhurst was made 
as planned. Had storm or sudden war prevented Mrs. 
Bannister and Herbert from going, Dora would have 
gone by herself. She did not appear to be in her 
usual state of health that day, and Mrs. Bannister, 
noticing this, and attributing it to Dora’s great fond- 
ness for fruit at this season, and neglect of more solid 
food, had suggested that perhaps it might be well for 
her not to take a long drive that afternoon. But this 
remark was added to the thousand suggestions made 
by the elder lady and not accepted by the younger. 

Miriam was in the great hall when the Bannister 
family drove up, and she greeted her visitors with a 
well-poised affability which rather surprised Mrs. 
Bannister. Dora instantly noticed that she was 
better dressed than she had yet seen her. 

When they were seated in the parlor, Mrs. Bannis- 
ter announced that their call was intended to include 
Mrs. Drane and her daughter, and Herbert hoped that 
this time he would be able to see Mr. Haverley. 

Mrs. Drane was sent for, but Miriam did not know 
where her brother and Miss Drane should be looked 
for. She had seen them walk by the back piazza, 
236 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


but did not notice in what direction they had gone. 
At this moment there ran through Dora a sensation 
similar to that occasioned by a mild galvanic shock, 
but as she was looking out of the open door, the rest 
of the company saw no signs of this. 

“ Excuse me/’ said Mrs. Bannister, in a low voice, 
and speaking rather rapidly, “but I thought that 
Miss Drane was working for Dr. Tolbridge, copying, 
or something of that kind.” 

“She is,” answered Miriam, “but she has her regular 
hours, and stops at five o’clock, just as she did when 
she was in the doctor’s house.” 

When Mrs. Drane had appeared and the visitors 
had been presented, Miriam said that she would go 
herself and look for Ralph and Miss Drane. She 
thought now that it was very likely they were in the 
orchard. 

“Let me go with you,” exclaimed Dora, springing 
to her feet. And in a moment she and Miriam had 
left the house. 

“I heard her say,” said Miriam, “that she wanted 
some summer apples, fresh from the tree, and that is 
the reason why I suppose they are in the orchard. 
You never knew anybody so wild about country 
things as Miss Drane is. And she knows so little 
about them, too.” 

“Do you like her? ” asked Dora. 

“Ever so much. I think she is as nice as can be. 
She is a good deal older than I am, but sometimes it 
seems as if it were the other way. I suppose one 
reason is that she wants to know so much, and I 
think I must like to tell people things— nice people, 
I mean.” 


237 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Dora’s mind was in a state of lively receptivity, 
and it received an impression from Miriam’s words 
that might he of use hereafter. But now they had 
reached the orchard, and there, standing on a low 
branch of a tree, was Ralph, and below was Miss 
Drane. Her laughing face was turned upward, and 
she was holding her straw hat to catch an apple, but 
it was plain that she was not skilled in that sort of 
exercise, and when the apple dropped, it barely 
touched the rim of the hat and rolled upon the 
ground, and then they both laughed as if they had 
known each other for twenty years. 

“What a little thing ! ” said Miss Bannister. 

“She is small,” answered Miriam, “btft isn’t she 
pretty and graceful? And her clothes fit her so 
beautifully. I am sure you will like her.” 

Ralph came down from the tree, the straw hat was 
replaced on the head of Miss Drane, and then came 
introduction and greeting. Never before had Dora 
Bannister found it so hard to meet any one as she 
found it to meet these two. She was only eighteen, 
and had had no experience in comporting herself in an 
ordinary way when her every impulse prompted her 
to do or say something quite extraordinary. But she 
was a girl who could control herself, and she now 
controlled herself so well that had Miss Panney or 
Mrs. Tolbridge been there they would instantly have 
suspected what was meant by so much self-control. 
She greeted Miss Drane with much suavity, and asked 
her if she liked apples. 

As the party started for the house, Dora, who was 
a quick walker, was not so quick as usual, and Ralph 
naturally slackened his pace a little. In a few mo- 
238 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


ments Miriam and Miss Drane were hurrying toward 
the house, considerably in advance of the others. 

“It is so nice,” said Dora, “for your sister to have 
ladies in the house with her. I have been wanting to 
see her ever so much, and was afraid something was 
the matter with her, especially as you did not come 
for your dog.” 

As Ralph was explaining his apparent ungracious- 
ness, Dora’s soul was roughly shaken. She was angry 
with him, and wanted to show it, but she saw clearly 
that this would be unsafe. Her hold upon him was 
very slight, and a few unwise words now might make 
him no more than a mere acquaintance. She did not 
wish to say words that would do that, but if she held 
him by a cord ever so slender, she would obey the 
promptings of her soul and endeavor to draw him a 
little toward her. She would take the risks of that, 
for if he drifted away from her, the cord would be as 
likely to break as if she drew upon it. 

“Oh, yes,” she said, “I knew all the time why you 
and Miriam did not come to make a regular society 
call, but I did suppose that you would drop in to see 
about Congo. As soon as I got home, after I prom- 
ised him to you, I began to educate him to cease to 
care for me, and to care for you. If you had been 
there, all this would have been easy enough, but as it 
was, I had to get Herbert or the coachman to take 
him out walking at the times I used to take him, and 
when he was tied up I kept away from his little house 
altogether, so that he should become accustomed to 
do without me. I stopped feeding him, and made 
Herbert do that whenever he had time, and I insisted 
that he should wear a big straw hat, which he does 
239 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


not like, but which is a good deal like the one you 
wear, and which I thought might have an influence 
on the mind of Congo.” 

This touched Ealph. He did not wish that Miss 
Bannister should suppose that he thought so little of 
a gift of which she thought so much, and in order 
to entirely remove any suspicion of ungratefulness, 
he endeavored to make her understand that he had 
wished very much to go to see the dog, but wished 
much more to go to see her. 

“I hate a great many of these social rules,” he said, 
“and although I did not know any of the rest of your 
family, I knew you, and felt very much inclined to 
call on you, and let the customs take care of them- 
selves.” 

“I wish you had ! ” exclaimed Dora. “I like to see 
people brave enough to trample on customs.” 

Her spirits were rising, and she walked still slower. 
This tete-a-tete was very delightful to Ealph, but he 
had no desire to trample on all social customs, and 
his feelings of courteous hospitality urged him to go 
as rapidly as possible to greet the special visitor who 
was waiting for him ; but to desert that gentleman’s 
sister, or make her walk quickly when she did not wish 
to, was equally opposed to his ideas of courtesy, and 
so it happened that Dora and Ealph entered the 
parlor so much later than the others that a decided 
impression was made on the minds of Mrs. and Miss 
Drane. And this was what Dora wished. She felt 
that it would be a very good thing in this case to 
assert some sort of a preemption claim. It could do 
no harm, and might be of great service. 

After the manner of those country gentlemen, who 
240 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


in mixed society are apt to prefer their own sex for 
purposes of converse, Herbert Bannister monopolized 
Ralph. His sister talked with Cicely Drane, and, in 
spite of her natural courage and the reasons for self- 
confidence which she had just received, Dora’s spirits 
steadily fell as she conversed with this merry, attrac- 
tive girl, who knew so well how to make herself 
entertaining, even to other girls, and who was actually 
living in Ralph Haverley’s house. 

Dora made the visit shorter than it otherwise 
would have been. She had come, she had seen, and 
she wanted to go home and think about the rest of 
the business. The drive home was, in a degree, pleas- 
ant, because Herbert had a great deal to say about 
Mr. Haverley, whom he had found most agreeable, 
and because Mrs. Bannister spoke in praise of Ralph’s 
manly beauty. But it would depend upon future cir- 
cumstances whether or not remarks of this kind could 
be considered entirely satisfactory. 

That night, in her own room, in a loose dressing- 
gown, and with her hair hanging over her shoulders, 
Dora devoted herself to an earnest consideration of 
her relations with Ralph Haverley. At first sight it 
seemed odd that there should be any relations at all, 
for she had known him but a short time, and he had 
made few or no advances toward her— not half so 
many or such pronounced ones as other men had 
made during her few visits to fashionable resorts. 
But she settled this part of the question very promptly. 

“I like him better than anybody I have ever seen,” 
she said to herself. “In fact, I love him, and now—” 
And then she went on to consider the rest of the 
matter, which was not so easy to settle. 

241 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Cicely Drane was terribly hard to settle. There 
was that girl,— all the more dangerous because, being 
charming and little, a man would be more apt to treat 
her as a good comrade than if she were charming and 
tall,— who was with him all the time. And how she 
would be with him Dora’s imagination readily per- 
ceived, because she knew how she herself would be 
with him under the circumstances. Before breakfast, 
in the dewy grass, gathering apples ; during work 
hours, talking through the open window as he chanced 
to pass $ after five o’clock, walks in the orchard, 
walks over the farm, in the woods, everywhere, and 
always those two together, because there were four of 
them. How much worse it was that there were four 
of them ! And the evenings, moonlight, starlight, on 
the piazza, good night on the stairs— it was madden- 
ing to think of. 

But, nevertheless, she thought of it hour after hour, 
with no other result than to become more and more 
convinced that she was truly in love with a man who 
had never given any sign that he loved her, and that 
there was every reason to believe that when he gave 
a sign that he loved, it would be to another woman, 
and not to her. 

She rose and looked out of the window. A piece 
of the moon, far gone in the third quarter, was rising 
above a mass of evergreens. She had a courageous 
young soul, and the waning brightness of the lovers’ 
orb did not affect her as a disheartening sign. 

“It is not right,” she said to herself. “I will not do 
it. I will not hang like an apple on a tree for any 
one to pick who chooses, or, if nobody chooses, to drop 
down to the chickens and pigs. A woman has as 
242 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


much right to try to do the best for herself as a man 
has to try to do the best for himself. I can’t really 
trample on customs as a man can, but I can do it in 
my mind, and I do it now. I love him, and I will 
get him if I can.” 

With this Dora sat down, and left the bit of moon 
to shed what luminousness it could over the landscape. 

Her resolution shed a certain luminousness over 
Dora’s soul. To determine to do a thing is nearly 
always inspiriting. 

“Yes,” she thought, “I will do what I can. He 
has promised to come very soon, and he shall not 
have Congo the first time he comes. He shall come, 
and I shall go, and I shall be great friends with 
Miriam. There will be nothing false in that, for I 
like her ever so much, and I shall remember to think 
more of what she likes. Ho one shall see me break 
down any customs of society,— especially he shall not, 
—but out of my mind they are swept and utterly 
gone.” 

Having thus shaped her course, Dora thought she 
would go to bed. But suddenly an idea struck her, 
and she stood and pondered. 

“I believe,” she said, speaking aloud in her earnest- 
ness, “I believe that that is what Miss Panney meant. 
She has spoken so well of him to me, she has heard 
about that girl, and she said— yes, she certainly did 
say, ‘It shall be done.’ She wants it, I truly believe. 
She wants me to marry him.” 

For a few minutes she stood gazing at her ring, and 
then she said : 

“I will go to her. I will tell her everything. It 
will be a great thing to have Miss Panney on my side. 

243 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


She does not care for customs, and she will never 
breathe a word to a soul.” 

Dr. Tolbridge was not mistaken in his estimate of 
the sort of mind Dora Bannister would have when she 
should shed her old one. 


244 


CHAPTER XXVII 


“it couldn’t be better than that” 

The Haverleys could not expect that the people of 
Thorbury would feel any general and urgent desire 
to recognize them as neighbors. They did not live in 
the town, and, moreover, newcomers, even to the town 
itself, were usually looked upon as “summer people ” 
until they had proved that they were to be permanent 
residents, and the leading families of Thorbury made 
it a rule not to call on summer people. 

But the example of the Tolbridges and Bannisters 
had a certain effect on Thorbury society, and people 
now began to drive out to Cobhurst— not very many 
of them, but some of them representative people. Mr. 
Ames, the rector of Grace Church, came early because 
the Haverleys had been to his church several times, 
and Mr. Torry, the Presbyterian minister, came after- 
wards because the Haverleys had stopped going to 
Grace Church, and he did not know that it was on 
account of the gig shafts. 

Mr. Hampton, the Methodist, who was a pedestrian, 
walked out to Cobhurst one day, but as neither the 
brother nor sister could be found, he good-humoredly 
resolved to postpone a future call until cooler weather. 

245 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Lately, when a lady had called, it happened that 
there had been no one to receive her but Mrs. Drane ; 
and although there could be no doubt that that lady 
performed the duties of hostess most admirably, 
Miriam resolved that that thing should never hap- 
pen again. She did not wish the people to think 
that there was a regent in rule at Cobhurst, and she 
now determined to make it a point to be within call 
during ordinary visiting hours. Or, if she felt strongly 
moved to a late afternoon ramble, she would invite 
the other ladies to accompany her. She still wore 
her hair down her back, and her dresses did not quite 
touch the tops of her boots, and it was therefore 
necessary to be careful in regard to her prerogatives 
as mistress of the house. 

Early one afternoon, much sooner than there was 
reason to expect visitors, a carriage came in at the 
Cobhurst gate, driven by our friend Andy Griffing. 
Miriam happened to be at a front window, and re- 
garded with some surprise the shabby equipage. It 
came with a flourish to the front of the house, and 
stopped. But, instead of alighting, its occupant 
seemed to be expostulating with the driver. Andy 
shook his head a great deal, but finally drove round 
at the back, when an elderly woman got out and 
came to the hall door. Miriam, who supposed, of 
course, that she would be wanted, was there to meet 
her, and there was no necessity for ringing or knock- 
ing. 

“My name,” said the visitor, “is La Fleur, if you 
please. I came to see Mrs. Drane and Miss Drane, if 
you please. Thank you very much, I will come in. 
I will wait here, or, if you will be so good as to tell 
246 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


me where I can find Mrs. Drane, I will go to her. I 
used to live with her— I was her cook.” 

Miriam had been gazing with much interest on the 
puffy face and shawl-enwrapped body of the old 
woman who addressed her with a smiling obsequious- 
ness to which she was not at all accustomed. The 
thought struck her that with servants like this 
woman it would be easy to feel herself a mistress. 
She had heard from the Dranes a great deal about 
their famous cook, and she was glad of the opportunity 
to look upon this learned professor of kitchen lore. 

“What would she have said to my tall raspberry 
tarts ! ” involuntarily thought the girl. 

But it was when La Fleur had gone to Mrs. Drane's 
room, and Cicely, wildly delighted when informed 
who had come to see them, had run to meet the dear 
old woman, that Miriam pondered most seriously upon 
this visit from a cook. She had not known anything 
of the ties between families and old family servants. 

At school, servants had been no more than ma- 
chines. She was nothing to them, and they were 
nothing to her. And now she felt that the ignorance 
of these ties was one of the deprivations of her life. 
That old woman up -stairs had not lived very long 
with the Dranes, and yet she regarded them with a 
positive affection. Miriam knew this from what she 
had heard. If they were in trouble, and needed her, 
she would come to them and serve them wherever 
they were. This she had told them often. How 
different was such a woman from Phoebe or Molly 
Tooney ! How happy would she be if there had been 
such a one in her mother's family, and were she with 
her now ! 


247 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“But I have only Ralph,” thought Miriam,— “no 
one else in the world .’ 7 Ralph was good, — no human 
being could be better,— but he was only one person, 
and knew nothing of many things she wanted to 
know, and could not help her in many ways in which 
she needed to be helped. 

With a feeling that from certain points of view she 
was rather solitary and somewhat forsaken, she went 
to look for her brother. It would be better to talk to 
what she had than to think about what she had not. 

As she walked toward the barn and pasture-fields, 
Ralph came up from the corn-field by the woods on 
the other side of the house. As he went in he met 
Mrs. Drane and La Fleur, who had just come down- 
stairs. Cicely had already retired to her work. At 
the sight of the gentleman who, she was informed, 
was the master of the house, La Fleur bowed her 
head, cast down her eyes, smiled, and courtesied. 

Mrs. Drane drew Ralph aside. 

“That is La Fleur, who used to be our cook. She 
is a kind old body, who takes the greatest interest in 
our welfare. She is greatly pleased to find us in such 
delightful quarters, but she has queer notions, and 
now she wants very much to call on your cook. I 
don’t know that this is the right thing, and I have 
been looking for your sister, to ask her if she objects 
to it, but I think she is not in the house.” 

“Oh, bless me ! ” exclaimed Ralph, “she will not 
mind in the least. Let the good woman go down and 
see Molly Tooney, and if she can give her some points 
about cooking, I am sure we shall all be delighted.” 

“Oh, she would not do that,” said Mrs. Drane. 
“She is a very considerate person. But I suppose, in 
248 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


any house, her instincts would naturally draw her 
toward the cook.” 

When Ralph turned to La Fleur, and assured her 
that his sister would be glad to have her visit the 
kitchen, the old woman, who had not taken her eyes 
from him for an instant, thanked him with great 
unction, again bowed, courtesied, smiled, and, being 
shown the way to the kitchen, descended. 

Molly Tooney, who was sitting on a low stool, par- 
ing potatoes, looked up in amazement at the person 
who entered her kitchen. It was not an obsequious 
old woman she saw, but a sedate, dignified, elderly 
person, with her brows somewhat knitted. Throwing 
about her a glance which was not one of admiration, 
La Fleur remarked : 

“I suppose you are the cook of the house.” 

“Indade, and I am,” said Molly, still upon the stool, 
with a knife in one hand, and a potato, with a long 
paring hanging from it, in the other ; “and the wash- 
erwoman, and the chambermaid, and the butler, too, 
as loike as may be. And who may you be, and which 
do you want to see ? ” 

“I am Madam La Fleur,” said the other, with a 
stateliness that none of her mistresses ever supposed 
that she possessed. “I came to see Mrs. Drane, in 
whose service I was formerly engaged, and I wish to 
know for myself what sort of a person is cooking for 
the ladies whose meals I used to prepare.” 

Molly put down her knife and her half-pared po- 
tato, and arose. She had heard of La Fleur, whose 
fame had spread through and about Thorbury. 

“Sit down, mum,” said she. “This isn’t much of a 
kitchen, for I haven’t had time to clane it up. And 
249 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


as for me, Pm not much of a cook, nather, for when 
ye have to be i very thing, ye can’t be anything to 
no great ixtent.” 

La Fleur, still standing, looked at her severely. 

“How often do you bake?” she asked. 

“Three times a week,” answered Molly, lying. 

“The ladies up-stairs,” said La Fleur, “have been 
accustomed to fresh rolls every morning for their 
breakfast.” 

“And afther this they shall have ’em,” said Molly, 
“Sundays and week-days, and sorry I am that I didn’t 
know before that they was used to have ’em.” 

“How do you make your coffee?” asked La Fleur. 

Molly looked at her hesitatingly. 

“I am very keerful about that,” she said. “I niver 
let it bile too much—” 

“Ugh ! ” exclaimed La Fleur, raising her hand. 
“Tell your mistress to get you a French coffee-pot, 
and if you don’t know how to use it, I’ll come and 
teach you. I shall be here, off and on, as long as 
Mrs. Drane stops in this house.” And then, seating 
herself, La Fleur proceeded to put Molly through an 
elementary domestic-service examination. 

“Well,” said the examiner, when she had finished, 
“I think you must be the worst cook in this part of 
the country.” 

“Ho, mum, I’m not,” said Molly. “There was one 
here afore me, a nager woman named Phoebe, that 
must have been worse, from what I’m told.” 

“Where I have lived,” said La Fleur, “they have 
such women to cook for the farm laborers.” 

“Beggin’ your pardon, mum,” said Molly, “that’s 
what they are here, or the same thing. Mr. Haverley 
250 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


he works on the farm with a pitchfork, jes like the 
nager man.” 

“ Don’t talk to me like that ! ” exclaimed La Fleur. 
“Mr. Haverley is a gentleman. I have lived enough 
among gentlemen to know them when I see them, and 
they can work, and they can play, and they can do 
what they please, and they are gentlemen still. 
Don’t you ever speak that way again of your 
master.” 

“I thought I had heard, mum,” said Molly, “that 
you looked down on thrades -people and the loike.” 

“Trades-people ! ” said the other, scornfully. “A 
gentleman farmer is very different from a person in 
trade. But I can’t expect anything better from a 
woman who boils coffee and never heard of bouillon. 
But remember the things I have told you, and thank 
your stars that a cook as high up in the profession as 
I am is willing to tell you anything. Are you the 
only servant in this house ? ” 

“There’s a man by the name of Mike,” said Molly, 
“a nager, though you wouldn’t think it from his name. 
He helps me sometimes, and he helps iverybody else 
other times.” 

“Is that the man?” said La Fleur, looking out of 
the window. 

“That’s him, mum,” said Molly. “He’s jes goin’ to 
the woodpile with his axe.” 

“I wish to speak to him,” said La Fleur. And, with 
a very slight nod of the head, she left the kitchen by 
the door that led into the grounds. 

Looking after her, Molly exclaimed : 

“Drat you for a stuck-up, cross-grained, meddlin’, 
bumblebee-backed old hag of a soup-slopper, to 
251 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


come stickin’ yer big nose into other people’s kitchens ! 
If there was a rale misthress to the house, instead of 
the little gal up -stairs, you’d be rowled down the front 
steps afore you’d been let come into my kitchen.” 
And with this she returned to her potatoes. 

La Fleur stopped at the woodpile as if, in passing, 
she had happened to notice a good man splitting logs. 
In her blandest voice she accosted Mike and bade him 
good day. 

“I think you must be Michael,” she said. “The 
cook has been speaking of you to me. My name is 
La Fleur.” 

Mike, who had struck his axe into a log, touched 
his flattened hat. 

“Yes, mum,” he said. “Mr. Griffing has been tel- 
lin’ me that. Are you lookin’ for any of the folks ? ” 

“Oh, no, no,” said La Fleur. “I am just walking 
about to see a little of this beautiful place. Y ou don’t 
mind that, do you, Michael? You keep everything 
in such nice order. I haven’t seen your garden, but 
I know it is a fine one, because I saw some of the 
vegetables that came out of it.” 

Mike grinned. “I reckon it ain’t the same kind of 
a garden that you’ve been used to, mum. I’ve heared 
that you cooked for Queen Victoria.” 

“Oh, no, no,” said La Fleur, dropping her head on 
one side so that her smile made a slight angle with 
the horizon. “I never cooked for the Queen— no, in- 
deed. But I have lived with high families,— lords, 
ladies, and ambassadors,— and I don’t remember that 
any of them had better potatoes than I saw to-day. 
Is this a large farm, Michael ? ” 

“It’s considerable over a hundred acres, though I 
252 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


don’t ’xactly know how much— not what you’d call 
big, and not what you’d call little.” 

“But you grow beautiful crops on it, I don’t doubt,” 
remarked La Fleur. 

“ Can’t say about that,” said Mike, shaking his head 
a little. “I ’spects we’ll git good ’nough craps for 
what we do for ’em. This ain’t the kind of farm your 
lords and ladies has got. It’s ramshackle, you know.” 

“Ramshackle ? ” repeated La Fleur. “Is that a sort 
of sheep -farm? ” 

Mike grinned. “Law, no ! We ain’t got no sheep, 
and. I’m glad of it. Ramshackle farmin’ means takin 
things as you find ’em, and makin’ ’em do, and what 
you git you’ve got. But with t’other kind of farmin’, 
most times what you git ye have to pay out, and 
then you ain’t got nothin’.” 

This was more than La Fleur could comprehend, 
but she inferred in a general way that Mr. Haverley’s 
farm was a profitable one. 

“All so pretty, so pretty,” she said, looking from 
side to side. “Such a grand barn, and such broad 
acres. Is it the estate as far as I can see ? ” 

“Yes, mum,” said Mike, “and a good deal furder. 
The woods cuts it off down that-a-way.” 

“It is a lordly place,” said La Fleur, “and it does 
you honor, Michael, for the cook told me you were 
Mr. Haverley’s head man.” 

“I reckon she’s about right there,” said Mike. 

“And I am very glad indeed,” continued the old 
woman, “that Mrs. and Miss Drane are living here. 
And now, Michael, if either of them is ever taken iff, 
and you’re sent for the doctor, I want you to come 
straight to me, and I’ll see that he goes to them. If 
253 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


you knock at the back door of the kitchen, I’ll hear 
you, whether I am awake or asleep. And when you 
are coming to town, Michael, you must drop in and 
see me. I can give you a nice bit of a lunch, any 
day. I dare say you like good things to eat as well 
as anybody.” 

Mike stood silent for a moment, and his eyes began 
to brighten. 

“Indeed I do, mum,” said he. “If I was to carry 
in a punkin to you when they’re ripe, I wonder if 
you’d be willin’ to make me a punkin-pie, same kind 
as Queen Victoria has in the fall of the year I ” 

La Fleur beamed on him most graciously. 

“I will do that gladly, Michael— you may count on 
me to do that. And I will give you other things that 
you like. Wait till we see— wait till we see. Good 
day, Michael. I must be going now, or the doctor will 
be kept waiting for his dinner. Where’s my cabby ? ” 

“Mr. Griffing has drove round to the front of the 
house, mum,” said Mike. 

“Just like the stupid American,” muttered the old 
woman, as she hurried away. “As if I’d get in at the 
front of the house ! ” 

Andy Griffing talked a good deal on the drive back 
to Thorbury, but La Fleur heard little and answered 
less. She was in a state of great mental satisfaction, 
and during her driver’s long descriptions of persons 
and places she kept saying to herself, “It couldn’t be 
better than that. It couldn’t be better than that.” 

This mental expression she applied to Mr. Haverley, 
whom she considered an extraordinarily fine -looking 
young man ; to the broad acres and fine barn ; to the 
fact that the Dranes were living with him ; to the 
254 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


probability that he would fall in love with the charm- 
ing Miss Cicely, and make her mistress of the estate j 
and to the strong possibility that, should this thing 
happen, she herself would be the cook of Cobhurst, 
and help her young mistress put the establishment on 
the footing that her station demanded. 

“It couldn’t be better than that,” she muttered over 
and over again, as she busied herself about the Tol- 
bridge dinner, and she even repeated the expression 
two or three times after she went to bed. 


255 


CHAPTER XXVIII 

THE GAME IS CALLED 

In her notions and schemes regarding the person and 
estate of Ralph Haverley, the good cook, La Fleur, 
lacked one great advantage possessed by her rival 
planner and schemer, Miss Panney; for she whose 
cause was espoused by the latter old woman was her- 
self eager for the fray and desirous of victory, whereas 
Cicely Drane had not yet thought of marrying any- 
body, and, outside of working hours, was devoting her- 
self to getting all the pleasure she could out of life, 
not regarding much whether it was her mother or 
Miriam or Mr. Haverley who helped her get it. 
Moreover, the advantages of co-residence, which La 
Fleur naturally counted upon, were not so great as 
might have been expected ; for Mrs. Drane, having 
perceived that Ralph was fond of the society of young 
ladies to a degree which might easily grow beyond 
her ideas of decorous companionship between a gentle- 
man of the house and a lady boarder, gently interfered 
with the dual apple-gatherings and recreations of that 
nature. For this, had she been aware of it, Dora 
Bannister would have been most grateful. 

Ralph had gone twice to see Congo, and to talk to 
256 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Miss Bannister about him, but he had not taken the 
dog home. Dora said she would take him to Cob- 
hurst the first time she drove over there to see Miriam. 
Congo would follow her and the carriage anywhere, 
and this would be so much pleasanter than to have 
him forced away like a prisoner. 

The gig shafts had now been repaired, and Ralph 
urged his sister to go with him to Thorbury and at- 
tend to her social duties. But Miriam disliked the 
little town and loved Cobhurst. As to social duties, 
she thought they ought to be attended to, of course, 
but saw no need to be in a hurry about them. So 
Ralph, one day, having business in Thorbury, pre- 
pared to go in again by himself. He had been lately 
riding Mrs. Browning, who was still his only avail- 
able horse for family use ; but she was not very agree- 
able under the saddle, and he now proposed to take 
the gig. He had thought it might be a good idea to 
take a little drive out of the town, and see if Congo 
would follow him. Perhaps Miss Bannister would ac- 
company him, for she was very anxious that the dog 
should become used to Ralph before leaving his pres- 
ent home, and her presence would help very much in 
teaching the animal to follow. 

But although Miriam declined to go with her 
brother, she took much interest in his expedition, and 
came out to the barn to see him harness Mrs. 
Browning. 

“Are you going to Dora Bannister’s again?” she 
asked. 

“Yes,” said Ralph. “At least, I think I shall stop 
in to see the dog. You know, the oftener I do that, 
the better.” 


257 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“I think it is a shame / 7 said Miriam, “that yon 
should be driving to town alone, when there are other 
people who wish so much to go, and you have no use 
at all for that empty seat . 77 

“Who wants to go ? 77 asked Ralph, quickly. 

“ Cicely Drane does. She has got into trouble over 
the doctor’s manuscript, and says she can’t go on 
properly without seeing him. She has been expect- 
ing him here every day, but it seems as if he never 
intended to come. She asked me this morning how 
far it was to Thorbury, and I think she intends to 
walk in if he does not come to-day . 77 

“ Why didn’t you tell me this before ? 77 asked Ralph. 
“I would have sent her into town, or taken her.” 

“I had not formulated it in my mind,” said Miriam. 
“Will you take her with you to-day? I know that 
she has made up her mind she cannot wait any longer 
for the doctor to come.” 

“Of course I will take her,” said Ralph. “Will you 
ask her to get ready? Tell her I shall be at the door 
in ten or fifteen minutes.” 

Ralph’s tone was perfectly good-humored, but Mir- 
iam fancied that she perceived a trace of disappoint- 
ment in it. She was sorry for this, for she could not 
imagine why any man should object to have Cicely 
Drane as a companion on a drive, unless his mind 
was entirely occupied by some other girl; and if 
Ralph’s mind was thus occupied, it must be by Dora 
Bannister, and that did not please her. So she reso- 
lutely put aside all Cicely’s suggestions that it might 
be inconvenient for Mr. Haverley to take her with 
him, and deftly overcame Mrs. Drane’s one or two 
impromptu, and therefore not very well constructed, 
258 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


objections to the acceptance of the invitation, and in 
the gig Cicely went with Ralph to Thorbnry. 

After having left the secretary to attend to her 
business at the doctor’s house, Ralph drove to the 
Bannisters’. But Dora would not see him, and techni- 
cally was not at home. Alas ! she had seen him 
driving past with Miss Drane, and she was angry. 
This was contrary to the plan of action she had 
adopted, but her eighteen-year-old spirit rebelled, 
and she could not help it. A more hideous trap than 
that old gig could not be imagined, but she had 
planned a drive in it with Ralph on some of the quiet 
country roads beyond Cobhurst. They would take 
Congo with them, and that would be such a capital 
plan to teach the dog to follow his new master. And 
now it was the Drane girl who was driving with him 
in his gig. She could not go down and see him and 
meet him in the way she liked to meet him. 

Miss Panney, on the other side of the street, had 
been passing the Tolbridge house at the moment when 
Ralph and Cicely drove up. She stopped for a mo- 
ment, her feelings absolutely outraged. It was not 
uncommon for her to pass places at times when people 
were doing things in those places which she thought 
they ought not to do, but this was a case which 
roused her anger in an unusual manner. Whatever 
else might happen at Cobhurst, she did not believe 
that that girl would begin so soon to go out driving 
with him. 

She had left her phaeton at a livery stable, and was 
on her way to the Bannister house to have a talk with 
Dora on a subject in which they were now both so 
much interested. She had been very much surprised 
259 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


when the girl had come to her and freely avowed her 
feelings and hopes, but she had been delighted. She 
liked a spirit of that sort, and it was a joy to her to 
work with one who possessed it. But she knew human 
nature, and she was very much afraid that Dora’s 
purpose might weaken. It was quite natural that a 
young person, in a moment of excitement and pique, 
should figuratively raise her sword in air and vow a 
vow ; but it was also quite natural, when the excite- 
ment and pique had cooled down, that the young 
person should experience what might be called a 
“vow-fright,” and feel unable to go through with her 
part. In a case such as Dora’s this was very possible 
indeed, and all that Miss Panney had planned to say 
on her present visit was intended to inspire the girl, 
if it should be needed, with some of her own matured 
inflexibility and fixedness of purpose. But if the man 
were doing this sort of thing already, and Dora should 
know it, she would have a right to be discouraged. 

Before the old lady reached the Bannisters’ gate, 
she saw Mr. Haverley, in his gig, drive away. This 
brightened her up a little. 

“He comes here, anyway,” she thought. “What a 
pity Dora is not in.” 

Nevertheless, she went on to the Bannister house, 
and when she found Dora was in, she began to scold 
her. 

“This will never do, will never do,” she said. “Get 
angry with him if you choose, but don’t show it. If 
you do that, you may crush him too low or bounce 
him too high, and, in either case, he may be off before 
you know it. It is too early in the game to show him 
that he has made you angry.” 

260 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“But if he doesn’t want me, I don’t want him/’ said 
Dora, sulkily. 

“If you think that way, my dear,” said Miss Pan- 
ney, “you may as well make up your mind to make a 
bad match, or die an old maid. The right man very 
seldom comes of his own accord ; it is nearly always 
the wrong one. If you happen to meet the right 
man, you should help him to know that he ought to 
come. That is the way to look at it. That young 
Haverley does not know yet who it is that he cares 
for. He is just floating along, waiting for some one 
to thrust out a boat-hook and pull him in.” 

“I shall marry no floating log,” said Dora, stiffly. 

The old lady laughed. 

“Perhaps that was not a very good figure of speech,” 
she said. “But really, my dear, you must not inter- 
fere with your own happiness by showing temper. 
And if you look at the affair in its proper light, you 
will see it is not so bad, after all. Ten to one, he 
brought her to town because she wanted to come with 
him— probably on some patched-up errand 5 but he 
came here because he wanted to come,— there could 
be no other reason,— and, instead of being angry with 
him, you should have given him an extraordinary 
welcome. For the very reason that she has so many 
advantages over you, being so much with him, you 
should be very careful to make use of the advantages 
you have over her. Your advantages are that you 
are ten times better fitted to be his wife than she 
is, and the great thing necessary to be done is to let 
him see it. But her chances must come to an end. 
Those Dranes must be got away from Cobhurst.” 

“I don’t like that way of looking at it,” said Dora, 
261 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


leaning back in her chair, with a sigh. “It’s the 
same thing as fishing for a man — though I suppose it 
might have been well to see him when he came.” 

Now Miss Panney felt encouraged ; her patient was 
showing good symptoms. Let her keep in that state 
of mind, and she would see that the lover came. She 
had made a mistake in speaking so bluntly about 
getting the Dranes out of Cobhurst. Although she 
would not say anything more to Dora about that im- 
portant piece of work, she would do it all the same. 

This little visit had been an important one to Miss 
Panney. It had enabled her to understand Dora’s 
character much better than she had understood it be- 
fore, and she perceived that in this case of match- 
making she must not only do a great deal of the work 
herself, but she must do it without Dora’s knowing 
anything about it. She liked this, for she was not 
much given to consulting with people. 

Miss Panney had another call to pay in the neigh- 
borhood, and she had intended, for form’s sake, to 
spend a little time with Mrs. Bannister. But she did 
neither. She went back by the way she had come, 
wishing to learn all she could about the movements 
of the Cobhurst gig. 

Approaching the Tolbridge house, she saw that 
vehicle standing before the door, with the sleepy Mrs. 
Browning tied to a post, and as she drew nearer she 
perceived Ralph Haverley sitting alone on the vine- 
shaded piazza. The old lady would not enter the 
Tolbridge gate, but she stood on the other side of the 
street and beckoned to Ralph, who, as soon as he saw 
her, ran over to her. 

Ralph walked a little way with Miss Panney, and 
262 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


after answering her most friendly inquiries about 
Miriam, he explained how he happened to be sitting 
alone on the piazza : the doctor and Miss Drane, 
whom he had brought to town, were at work at some 
manuscript, and he had preferred to wait outside in- 
stead of indoors. 

“I called on Miss Bannister,” he said, “but she was 
not at home, so I came back here.” 

“It is a pity she was out,” said Miss Panney, care- 
lessly. “And now that you have mentioned Miss Ban- 
nister, I would like to ask you something. Why does 
not your sister return her visits? I saw Dora not 
very long ago, and found that her feelings had been a 
little hurt— not much, perhaps, but a little— by Mir- 
iam’s apparent indifference to her. Dora is a very 
sensitive girl, and is slow to make friends among 
other girls. I never knew any friendship so quick 
and lively as that she showed for Miriam. You know 
that Dora is still young. It has not been long since 
she left school. There is not a girl in Thorbury that 
she cares anything about, and her life at home must 
necessarily be a lonely one. Her brother is busy, « 
even in the evenings, and Mrs. Bannister is no com- 
panion for a lively young girl.” 

“I had thought,” said Ralph, “that Miss Bannister 
went a good deal into society.” 

“Oh, no,” answered Miss Panney. “She sometimes 
visits her relatives, who are society people, but in 
years and disposition she is too young for that sort of 
thing. Society women and society men would simply 
bore her. At heart she is a true country girl, and I 
think it was because Miriam had country tastes, and 
loved that sort of life, that Dora’s affections went out 
263 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


so quickly to her. I wish your sister had the same 
feelings toward her.” 

“Oh, Miriam likes her very much,” exclaimed 
Ralph, “and is always delighted to see her. But my 
little sister is wonderfully fond of staying at home. I 
have told her over and over again that she ought to 
return Miss Bannisters calls.” 

“Make her do it,” said the old lady. “It is her 
duty, and, I assure you, it will be greatly to her ad- 
vantage. Miriam is a most lovely girl, but her char- 
acter has not hardened itself into what it is going to 
be, and association with a thoroughbred girl such as 
Dora Bannister, admirably educated, who has seen 
something of the world, with an intelligence and wit 
such as I have never known in any one of her age, 
and, more than all, with a soul as beautiful as her face, 
cannot fail to be an inestimable benefit to your sister. 
What Miriam most needs, at this stage of her life, is 
proper companionship of her own age and sex.” 

Ralph assented. “But,” said he, “she is not with- 
out that, you know. Miss Drane, who, with her 
mother, now lives with us, is a most—” 

Miss Panney’s face grew very hard. 

“Excuse me,” she interrupted. “I know all about 
that. Of course, the Dranes are very estimable people, 
and there are many things, especially in the way of 
housekeeping, which Mrs. Drane could teach Miriam, 
if she chose to take the trouble. But, while I respect 
the daughter’s efforts to support herself and her 
mother, it must be admitted that she is a working-girl, 
—nothing more or less,— and must continue to be such. 
Her present business, of course, can only last for a lit- 
tle while, and she will have to adopt some regular 
264 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


calling. This life she expects, and is preparing her- 
self for it. But a mind such as hers is, or must speed- 
ily become, is not the one from which Miriam’s young 
mind should receive its impressions. The two will 
move in very different spheres, and neither can be of 
any benefit to the other. More than that I will not 
say. But I will say that your sister can never find any 
friend so eager to love her, and so willing to help and 
be helped by her in so many ways in which girls can 
help each other, as my dear Dora. Now bestir your- 
self, Mr. Haverley, and make Miriam look at this 
thing as she ought to. I don’t pretend to deny that 
I have spoken to you very much for Dora’s sake, for 
whom I have an almost motherly feeling $ but you 
should act for your sister’s sake. And please don’t 
forget what I have said, young man, and give Miriam 
my best love.” 

When Ralph walked back to the Tolbridge piazza, 
he found the working-girl sitting there, waiting for 
him. His mind was not in an altogether satisfactory 
condition. Some things Miss Panney had said had 
pleased and even excited him, but there were other 
things that he resented. If she had not been such an 
old lady, and if she had not talked so rapidly, he 
might have shown this resentment. But he had not 
done so, and now the more he thought about it, the 
stronger the feeling grew. 

As for Cicely Drane, she was a great deal more 
quiet during the drive home than she had been when 
going to Thorbury. Her mind was in an unsatisfac- 
tory condition, and this had been occasioned by an 
interview with La Fleur, who had waylaid her in the 
hall as she came out of the doctor’s office. 


265 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


The good cook had been in a state of enthusiastic 
delight since, looking out of the kitchen window 
where she had been sitting, with a manuscript book 
of recipes in her lap, planning the luncheon and din- 
ner, she had seen the lord of Cobhurst drive up to the 
gate with dear Miss Cicely. It was a joy like that of 
listening to a party of dinner guests who were eating 
her favorite ice. With intense impatience she had 
awaited the appearance of Cicely from the doctor’s 
office, and, having drawn her to one side, she hastily 
imparted her sentiments. 

“It’s a shabby gig, Miss Cicely,” she said, “such as 
the farmers use in the old country, but it’s his own, 
and not hired, and the big house is his own, and all 
the broad acres. And he’s a gentleman from head to 
heel, living on his own estate, and as fine a built man 
as ever rode in the Queen’s army. Oh, Miss Cicely, 
your star is at the top of the heavens this time, and I 
want you to let me know if there is anything you 
want in the way of hats or wraps or clothes, or any- 
thing of that kind. It doesn’t make the least differ- 
ence to me, you know, just now, and we’ll settle it all 
after a while. It is the Christian duty for every 
young lady to look the smartest, especially at a time 
like this.” 

Cicely, her face flushed, drew herself away. 

“La Fleur,” she said, speaking quickly and in a low 
voice, “you ought to be ashamed of yourself.” And 
she hurried away, fearing that Mr. Haverley was 
waiting for her. 

La Fleur was not a bit ashamed of herself. She 
chuckled as she went back to the kitchen. 

“She’s a young thing of brains and beauty,” said 
266 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


she to herself, “and I don’t doubt that she had the 
notion in her own mind. But if it wasn’t there, I 
have put it there, and if it was there, I’ve dished it 
and dressed it, and it will be like another thing to 
her. As for the rest of it, he’ll attend to that. I 
haven’t a doubt that he is the curly-headed, brave 
fellow to do that. And I’ll find out from her mother 
if she needs anything, and not hurt her pride, either.” 


267 


CHAPTER XXIX 

HYPOTHESIS AND INNUENDO 

To say that Cicely Drane had not thought of Ralph 
Haverley as an exceedingly agreeable young man 
would be an injustice to her young womanly nature, 
but it would be quite correct to state that she had 
not thought him a whit more agreeable than Miriam. 
She was charmed with them both. They had taken 
her into their home circle as if they had adopted her 
as a sister. It was not until her mother began to put 
a gentle pressure upon her in order to prevent her 
gathering too many apples, and joining in too many 
other rural recreations with Mr. Haverley, that she 
thought of him as one who was not to be considered 
in the light of a brother. There could be no doubt 
that she would have come to the same conclusion if 
left to herself, but she would not have reached it so 
soon. 

But the effect that her mother’s precautionary dis- 
position had had upon her was nothing compared to 
that produced by the words of La Fleur. For the 
first time she looked upon Ralph as one on whom other 
persons looked as her lover, and to sit by the side of 
the said young man, immediately after being informed 
268 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


of said fact, was not conducive to a free and tranquil 
flow of remark. 

Her own sentiments on the subject, so far as she 
had put them into shape, — and it was quite natural 
that she should immediately begin to do this,— were 
neither embarrassing nor disagreeable. She liked 
him very much, and there was no reason why she 
should object to his liking her very much, and if they 
should ever do more than this, she should not be 
ashamed of it, and perhaps should be glad of it. But 
she was sorry that before either of them had thought 
of this, some one else should have done so. 

This might prove to be embarrassing, and the only 
comfort she could give herself was that La Fleur was 
such an affectionate old body, always talking of some 
bit of good fortune for her, that if she had seen her in 
company with a king or an emperor, she would im- 
mediately set herself to find some sort of throne-cov- 
ering which would suit her hair and complexion. 

The definite result of her reflections, made between 
desultory questions and answers, was that she regarded 
the young gentleman by her side in a light very differ- 
ent from that in which she had viewed him before she 
had met La Fleur in the doctor’s hall. It was not 
that she looked upon him as a possible lover— she had 
sense enough to know that almost any man might be 
that : he was a hypothetic lover, and, in view of the 
assumption, it behooved her to give careful observa- 
tion to everything in him, herself, or others which 
might bear upon the ensuing argument. 

As for Ralph, it angered him to look at the young 
lady by his side, who was as handsome, as well edu- 
cated and cultured, as tastefully dressed, as intelligent 
269 


THE GIRL AT CORHURST 


and witty, of as gentle, kind, and winning a disposi- 
tion, and, judging from what the doctor had told him 
when he first spoke of the Dranes, of as good blood, 
family, and position, as any one within the circle of 
his acquaintance, and then to remember that she had 
been called a working-girl, and spoken of in a manner 
that was almost contemptuous. 

Ralph always took the side of the man who was 
down, and, consequently, very often put himself on 
the wrong side ; and although he did not consider that 
Miss Drane was down, he saw that Miss Panney had 
tried to put her down, and therefore he became her 
champion. 

“ There could not be any one,” he said to himself, 
“ better fitted to be the friend and companion of Mir- 
iam than Cicely Drane is, and the next time I see that 
old lady, I shall tell her so. I have nothing to say 
against Miss Bannister, but I shall stand up for this 
one.” 

And now, feeling that it was not polite to treat a 
young lady with seeming inattention because he hap- 
pened to be earnestly thinking about her, he began 
to talk to Cicely in his liveliest and gayest manner, 
and she, not wishing him to think that she thought 
there was anything out of the way in this, or in his 
previous preoccupation, responded just as gayly. 

Ralph delivered Miss Panney’s message to his sister, 
and Miriam, giving much more weight to the advice 
and opinion of the old lady, whom she knew very 
slightly and cared for very little, than to that of her 
brother, whom she loved dearly, said she would go to 
see Miss Bannister the next afternoon if it happened 
to be clear. 


270 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


It was clear, and she went, and Ralph drove her 
there in the gig, and Dora was overwhelmed with joy 
to see her, and scolded Ralph in the most charming 
way for not bringing her before. Miriam was taken 
to see Congo, because Dora wanted her to begin to 
love him, and they were shown into the library, be- 
cause Dora said that she knew they both loved books, 
and her father had gathered together so many. In 
ten minutes Miriam was in the window-seat, dipping, 
which ended in her swimming far beyond her depth, 
in “Don Quixote,” which she had so often read of and 
never seen, and Dora and Ralph sat, heads together, 
over a portfolio of photographs of foreign places 
where the Bannisters had been. 

There were very few books at Cobhurst, and Miriam 
had read all of them she cared for, and consequently 
it was an absorbing delight to follow the adventures 
of the Knight of La Mancha. 

Ralph had not travelled in Europe, and there were 
very few pictures at Cobhurst, and he was greatly in- 
terested in the photographs, but this interest soon 
waned in the increasing delight of having Dora seated 
so close to him, of seeing her fair fingers point out the 
things he should look at, and listening to her sweet 
voice as she talked to him about the scenes and build- 
ings. There was an element of gentle and sympa- 
thetic interest in Dora’s manner which reminded 
him of her visit to Cobhurst, and the good night on 
the stairs, and this had a very charming effect upon 
Ralph, and made him wish that the portfolio were at 
least double its actual size. 

The Haverleys stayed so long that Mrs. Bannister, 
up -stairs, began to be nervous, and wondered if 
271 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

Dora had asked those young people to remain to 
tea. 

On the way home Ralph was in unusually good 
spirits, and talked much about Dora. She must have 
seen a great deal of the world, he said, for one so 
young, and she talked in such an interesting and ap- 
preciative way about what she had seen that he felt 
almost as if he had been to the places himself. 

With this for a text, he dilated upon the subject 
of Dora and foreign travel. But Miriam was not a 
responsive hearer. 

“I wish you knew Mr. Bannister better/ 7 she said, 
in a pause in her brother’s remarks. “He must have 
been everywhere that his sister has been, and proba- 
bly saw a great deal more.” 

“No doubt,” said Ralph, carelessly, “and probably 
has forgotten most of it $ men generally do that. A 
girl’s mind is not crammed with business and all that 
sort of stuff, and she can keep it free for things that 
are worth remembering.” 

Miriam did not immediately answer, but presently 
she said, speaking with a certain air of severity : 

“If my soul ached for the company of anybody as 
Miss Panney told you Dora Bannister’s soul ached for 
my company, I think I should have a little more to 
say to her, when she came to see me, than Dora Ban- 
nister had to say to me to-day.” 

“My dear child !” exclaimed Ralph, “that was be- 
cause you were so busy with your book. She saw 
you were completely wrapped up in it, and so let you 
take your own pleasure in your own way. I think 
that is one of her good points. She tries to find out 
what pleases people.” 


272 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“Bother her good points ! ” snapped Miriam. “You 
will make a regular porcupine of her if you keep on. 
I wish Mr. Bannister had given you the dog.” 

Ralph was very much disturbed ; it was seldom that 
his sister snapped at him. He could see, now that he 
considered the matter, that Miriam had been some- 
what neglected. She was young and a little touchy, 
and this ought to be considered. He thought it might 
be well, the next time he saw Miss Bannister by her- 
self, to explain this to her. He believed he could do 
it without making it appear a matter of any great 
importance. It was important, however, for he 
should very much dislike to see ill will grow up be- 
tween Miriam and Miss Bannister. What Miss Pan- 
ney had said about this young lady was very, very 
true, although, of course, it did not follow that any 
one else need be disparaged. 

Early in the forenoon of the next day, Miss Panney 
drove to Cobhurst. She had come, she informed Mir- 
iam, not only to see her, dear girl, but to make a 
formal call upon the Dranes. 

The call was very formal. Miss Drane left her work 
to meet the visitor, but having been loftily set aside 
by that lady during a stiff conversation with her 
mother about old residents in the neighborhood in 
which they had lived, she excused herself, after a time, 
and went back to her table and her manuscripts. 

Then Miss Panney changed the conversational scene, 
and began to talk about Thorbury. 

“I do not know, madam,” she said, “that you are 
aware that I was the cause of your coming to this 
neighborhood.” 

Mrs. Drane was a quiet lady, and the previous 
273 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


remarks of her visitor had been calculated to render 
her more quiet, but this roused her. 

“I certainly did not/’ she said. “We came on the 
invitation and through the kindness of Dr. Tolbridge, 
my old friend.” 

“Yes, yes, yes,” said Miss Panney, “that is all true 
enough, but I told him to send for you. In fact, I in- 
sisted upon it. I did it, of course, for his sake, for I 
knew that the arrangement would be of advantage to 
him in various ways ; but I was also glad to be of ser- 
vice to your daughter, of whom I had heard a good 
report. Furthermore, I interested myself very much 
in getting you lodgings, and found you a home at Mrs. 
Brinkly’s that I hoped you would like. If I had not 
done so, I think you would have been obliged to go 
to the hotel, which is not pleasant and much more 
expensive than a private house. I do not mention 
these things, madam, because I wish to be thanked, 
or anything of that sort. Far from it. I did what I 
did because I thought it was right. But I must admit, 
if you will excuse my mentioning it, that I was sur- 
prised, to say the least, that I was not consulted, in 
the slightest degree, on the occasion of your leaving 
the home I had secured for you.” 

“I am very sorry,” said Mrs. Drane, “that I should 
appear to have been discourteous to one who had 
done us a service, for which, I assure you, we are both 
very much obliged, but Dr. and Mrs. Tolbridge man- 
aged the whole affair of our removal from Mrs. 
Brinkly’s house, and I did not suppose there was any 
one, besides them and ourselves, who would take the 
slightest interest in the matter.” 

“Oh, I find no fault,” said Miss Panney. “It is 
274 


{ 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

not an affair of importance. But I think you will agree, 
madam, that, after the interest I had shown in procur- 
ing you suitable accommodation, I might have been 
spared what some people might consider the mortifi- 
cation of being told, when I stated to Mrs. Tolbridge 
that I intended to call upon you, that you were not 
then living with the lady whose consent to receive 
you into her family I had obtained after a great deal 
of personal solicitation and several visits.” 

Upon this presentation of the matter, Mrs. Drane 
could not help thinking that the old lady had been 
treated somewhat uncivilly, and expressed her regret 
in the most suitable terms she could think of, adding 
that she was sure that Miss Panney would agree that 
the change had been an excellent one. 

“Of course, of course,” said Miss Panney. “For a 
temporary country residence, I suppose you could 
not have found a better spot, though it must be a 
long walk for your daughter when she goes to submit 
her work to Dr. Tolbridge.” 

“That has not yet been necessary,” said Mrs. Drane. 
“Mr. Haverley is very kind—” 

At this point Miss Panney rose. She had said all 
she wanted to say, and to decline to hear anything 
about Balph Haverley’s having been seen driving 
about with a young woman who had been engaged 
as Dr. Tolbridge’s secretary was much better than 
speaking of it, and she took her leave with a prim 
politeness. 

Mrs. Drane was left in an uncomfortable state of 
mind. It was not pleasant to be reminded that this 
delightful country house was only a temporary home, 
for that implied a return to Thorbury, a town she dis- 
275 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


liked j and although she had, of course, expected to 
go back there, she had not allowed the matter to 
dwell in her mind at all, putting it into the future, 
without consideration, as she liked to do with things 
that were unpleasant. 

Moreover, there was something, she could not tell 
exactly what, about Miss Panney’s words and manner, 
which put an unsatisfactory aspect upon the obvious 
methods of Cicely’s communications with her employer. 

Mrs. Drane’s mind had already been slightly dis- 
turbed on this subject, but Miss Panney had revived 
and greatly increased the disturbance. 


276 


CHAPTER XXX 

A CONFIDENTIAL ANNOUNCEMENT 

Haying finished her visit of ceremony , Miss Panney 
asked permission of Miriam to see Molly Tooney. 
That woman was, in a measure, her protegee, and she 
had some little business with her. Declining to have 
the cook sent for, Miss Panney descended to the 
kitchen. 

She had not talked with Molly more than five min- 
utes, and had not approached the real subject of the 
interview, which concerned the social relations be- 
tween the Haverleys and the Dranes, when the Irish- 
woman lifted up her hands and opened wide her eyes. 

“The saints and the sinners ! ” she exclaimed, “if 
here isn’t that auld drab of a sausage, that cook of the 
docther’s, a-comin’ here again to tell me how to cook 
for them Dranes. Bad luck to them ! they don’t pay 
me nothin’, and only give me trouble.” 

Miss Panney turned quickly, and through the win- 
dow she saw La Fleur approaching the kitchen door. 

“She comes here to tell you how to cook for those 
people ? ” said Miss Panney, quickly. 

“Indade she does, and it’s none of her business, na- 
ther, the meddlin’ auld porpoise.” 

277 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“Molly” said Miss Panney, “go away and leave me 
here. I want to talk to this woman” 

“Which is more than I do/ 7 said the cook, and 
straightway departed to the floor above. 

La Fleur had come to see Mrs. Drane, but perceiv- 
ing Miss Panney 7 s phaeton at the door, she had con- 
cluded that there was company in the house, and had 
consequently betaken herself to the kitchen to make 
inquiries. When she found there Miss Panney, in- 
stead of Molly Tooney, La Fleur was surprised, but 
pleased, for she remembered the old lady as one who 
appreciated good cookery and a good cook. 

“How do you do, La Fleur % 77 said Miss Panney. “I 
am glad to see you. I suppose you still keep up your 
old interest in Mrs. Drane and her daughter. Do you 
often find time to come out here to see them 1 77 

“Hot often, madam, but sometimes. I can always 
find time for what I ' really want to do. If I like to 
be away for an hour or two, I 7 11 sit up late the night 
before, long after midnight sometimes, planning the 
meals and the courses for the next day, and when I 
go away, I leave everything so that I can take it 
right up, the minute I get back, and lose nothing in 
time or in any other way. 77 

“It is only a born chef who could do that, 77 said 
Miss Panney, “and it is very pleasant to see your 
affection for your former employers. Do you suppose 
that they will remain here much longer? 77 

“Remain! 77 exclaimed La Fleur. “They 7 ve never 
said a word to me, madam, about going away, and I 
don 7 t believe they have thought of it. I am sure I 
haven 7 t. 77 

Miss Panney shook her head. 

278 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“It’s none of my business/’ she said, “but I’ve lived 
a long time in this world, and that gives me a right 
to speak my mind to people who haven’t lived so long. 
It may have been all very well for the Dranes to 
have come here for a little vacation of a week or ten 
days, but to stay on and on is not the proper thing at 
all, and if you really have a regard for them, La 
Fleur, I think it is your duty to make them under- 
stand this. You might not care to speak plainly, of 
course, but you can easily make them perceive the 
situation, without offending them, or saying anything 
which an old servant might not say, in a case like 
this.” 

“But, madam,” said La Fleur, “what’s to hinder 
their stopping here? There’s no spot on earth that 
could suit them better, to my way of thinking.” 

“La Fleur,” said Miss Panney, regarding the other 
with moderate severity, “you ought to know that 
when people see a young woman like Miss Drane 
brought to live in a house with a handsome young 
gentleman who, to all intents and purposes, is keeping 
a bachelor’s hall,— for that girl up -stairs is entirely 
too young to be considered a mistress of a house, — and 
when they know that the young lady’s mother is a 
lady in impoverished circumstances, the people are 
bound to say, when they talk, that that young woman 
was brought here on purpose to catch the master of 
the house, and I don’t think, La Fleur, that you 
would like to hear that said of Mrs. Drane.” 

As she listened, the bodily eyes of La Fleur were 
contracted until they were almost shut, but her men- 
tal eyes opened wider and wider. She suspected that 
there was something back of Miss Panney’s words. 

279 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“If I heard anybody say that, madam, meaning it, 
I don’t think they would care to say it to me again. 
But leaving out all that and looking at the matter 
with my lights, it does seem to me that if Mr. Haver- 
ley wanted a mistress for his house, and felt inclined 
to marry Miss Cicely Drane, he couldn’t make a bet- 
ter choice.” 

“Choice!” repeated Miss Panney, sarcastically. 
“He has no choice to make. That is settled, and that 
is the very reason why people will talk the more and 
sharper, and nothing you can say, Madam Jane La 
Fleur, will stop them. Not only does this look like a 
scheme to marry Mr. Haverley to a girl who can bring 
him nothing, but to break off a most advantageous 
match with a lady who, in social position, wealth, and 
in every way, stands second to no one in this county.” 

“And who may that be, please?” asked La Fleur. 

Miss Panney hesitated. It would be a bold thing 
to give the answer that was on her tongue, but she 
was no coward, and this was a crisis of importance. 
A proper impression made upon this woman might 
be productive of more good results than if made upon 
any one else. 

“It is Miss Dora Bannister,” she said, “and of course 
you know all about the Bannister family. I tell you 
this because I consider that, under the circumstances, 
you ought to know it, but I expect you to mention it 
to no one, for the matter has not been formally an- 
nounced. Now, I am sure that a woman of your sense 
can easily see what the friends of Mr. Haverley, who 
know all about the state of affairs, will think and say 
when they see Mrs. Drane’s attempt to get for her 
daughter what rightfully belongs to another person.” 

280 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


If it had appeared to the mind of La Fleur that it 
was a dreadful thing to get for one’s daughter a life- 
long advantage which happened to belong to another, 
she might have greatly resented this imputation 
against Mrs. Drane. But as she should not have hesi- 
tated to try and obtain said advantage, if there was 
any chance of doing it, the imputation lost force. She 
did not, therefore, get angry, but merely asked, wish- 
ing to get as deep into the matter as possible, “And 
then it is all settled that he’s to marry Miss Ban- 
nister ? ” 

“Everything is not yet arranged, of course,” said 
Miss Panney, speaking rapidly, for she heard ap- 
proaching footsteps, “and you are not to say anything 
about all this or mention me in connection with it. 
I only spoke to you for the sake of the Dranes. It is 
your duty to get them away from here.” 

She had scarcely finished speaking when Miriam 
entered the kitchen. La Fleur had seen her before, 
but on her previous visit it had been Ralph who had 
given her permission to interview Molly Tooney, and 
she had then thought little of Miriam. La Fleur’s 
long years of service had given her many opportuni- 
ties of studying the characters of mistresses, in high 
life as well as middle life, but never had she seen a 
mistress like this school-girl with her hair hanging 
down her back. 

Miriam advanced toward La Fleur. 

“My cook told me that you were here, and I came 
down, thinking that you might want to see me.” 

“This is Madam La Fleur,” interpolated Miss Pan- 
ney, “the celebrated chef who cooks for Dr. Tolbridge. 
She came, I think, to see Mrs. Drane.” 

281 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“Not altogether, — oh, no, indeed,” said La Fleur, 
humbly smiling and bowing, with her eyes downcast 
and her head on one side. “I wished very much 
also to pay my respects to Miss Haverley. I am only 
a cook, and I am much obliged to this good lady — 
Miss Panic, I think is the name—” 

“Panney,” sharply interpolated the old lady. 

“Beg pardon, I am sure, Miss Panney— for what 
she has said about me. But when I come to pay my 
respects to Mrs. Drane, I wash to do the same to the 
lady of the house.” 

There was a gravity and sedateness in Miriam’s 
countenance which was not at all school-girlish, and 
which pleased La Fleur. In her eyes, it gave the girl 
an air of distinction. 

“I am glad to see you,” said Miriam, and turned to 
Miss Panney, as if wondering at that lady’s continued 
stay in the kitchen. Miss Panney understood the 
look. 

“I am getting points from La Fleur, my dear,” she 
said— “cooking points. You ought to do that. She 
can give you the most wonderful information about 
things you ought to know. Now, La Fleur, as you 
w ant to see Mrs. Drane, and it is time I had started 
for home, it will be well for us to go up -stairs and 
leave the kitchen to Molly Tooney.” 

Miss Panney was half-way up the stairs when La 
Fleur detained Miriam by a touch on the arm. 

“I will give you all the points you want, my dear 
young lady,” she said. “You have brains, and that 
is the great thing needful in overseeing cooking. 
And I will come some day on purpose to tell you how 
the dishes that your brother likes, and you like, ought 
282 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


to be cooked to make them delicious, and you shall be 
able to tell any one how they should be done, and 
understand what is the matter with them if they are 
not done properly. All this the lady of the house 
ought to know, and I can tell you anything you ask 
me, for there is nothing about cooking that I do not 
thoroughly understand. But I will not go up-stairs 
now, and I will not detain you from your visitor. I 
will take a turn in the grounds, and when the lady 
has gone, I will ask leave to speak with Mrs. Drane.” 

With her head on one side, and her smile and her 
bow, La Fleur left the kitchen by the outer door. 
She stepped quickly toward the barn, looking right 
and left as she walked. She wished very much to see 
Mike, and presently she had that pleasure. He had 
just come out of the barn-yard, and was closing the 
gate. She hurried toward him, for, although some- 
what porpoise-built, she was vigorous and could walk 
fast. 

“I am so pleased to see you, Michael,” she said. “I 
have brought you something which I think you will 
like,” and, opening a black bag which she carried 
on her arm, she produced a package wrapped in 
brown paper. 

“This,” she said, opening the wrapping, “is a pie— 
a veal-and-’am pie— such as you would not be likely 
to find in this country, unless you got me to make it 
for you. I baked it early this morning, intending to 
come here, and being sure you would like it. And you 
needn’t have any scruples about taking it. I bought 
everything in it with my own money. I always do 
that when I cook little dishes for people I like.” 

The pie had been brought as a present for Mrs. 

283 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Drane, but feeling that it was highly necessary to 
propitiate the only person on the place who might be 
of use to her, La Fleur decided to give the pie to 
Mike. 

The face of the colored man beamed with pleasure. 

“Veal and ham. Them two things ought to go to- 
gether fust-rate, though I’ve never eat ’em in that 
way. And in a pie, too. That looks mighty good. 
And how do ye eat it, Mrs.— ’scuse me, ma’am, but I 
never can rightly git hold of yer name.” 

“No wonder, no wonder,” said the other. “It is a 
French name. My second husband was a Frenchman, 
—a great cook, Michael,— a Frenchman. But the Eng- 
lish of the name is 6 flower,’ and you can call me Mrs. 
Flower. You can surely remember that, Michael.” 

Mike grinned widely. 

“Oh, yes, indeed, ma’am,” said he. “No trouble 
’bout that, specially when I think what pie-crust is 
made of, and that you’s a cook.” 

“Oh, it isn’t that kind of flour,” said La Fleur, 
laughing. “But it doesn’t matter a bit — it sounds 
the same. And now, Michael, you must warm this 
and eat it for your dinner. Have you a fire in your 
house ? ” 

“I can make one in no time,” said Mike. “Then 
you think I’d better not let the cook warm it for me t ” 

“You are quite right,” said La Fleur. “I don’t 
believe she’s half as good a cook as you are, Michael, 
for I’ve heard that all colored people have a knack 
that way ; and like as not she’d burn it to a crisp.” 

Wrapping up the pie and handing it to the de- 
lighted negro, La Fleur proceeded to business, for she 
felt she had no time to lose. 


284 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

“And how are you getting on, Michael? 7 ’ said she. 
“I suppose everybody is very busy preparing for the 
master’s wedding.” 

“The what ! ” exclaimed Mike, his eyebrows elevat- 
ing themselves to such a degree that his hat rose. 

“Mr. Haverley’s marriage with Miss Dora Bannis- 
ter. Isn’t that to take place very soon, Michael ? ” 

Mike put his pie on the post of the barn gate, took 
off his hat, and wiped his brow with his shirt-sleeve. 

“ Bless my everlastin’ soul, Mrs. Flower ! Who on 
this earth told you that?” 

“Is it, then, such a great secret? Miss Panney told 
it to me not twenty minutes ago.” 

Mike put on his hat. He took his pie from the post, 
and held it, first in one hand and then in the other. 
He seemed unable to express what he thought. 

“Look-a here, Mrs. Flower,” he said presently, “she 
told you that, did she ? ” 

“She really did,” was the answer. 

“Well, then,” said Mike, “the long and the short of 
it is, she lies. ’Tain’t the fust time that old Miss 
Panney has done that sort of thing. She comes to me 
one day, more than six year ago, and says, ‘Mike,’ says 
she, ‘why don’t you marry Phoebe Moxley ? ’ ‘ ’Cause 

I don’t want to marry her, nor nobody else,’ says I. 
‘But you ought to,’ says she, ‘for she’s a good woman, 
and a nice washer and ironer, and you’d do well to- 
gether.’ ‘Don’t want no washin’ nor ironin’, nor no 
Phoebe, neither,’ says I. But she didn’t mind nothin’ 
what I said, and goes and tells everybody that me and 
Phoebe was goin’ to be married, and then it was we 
did git married, jes to stop people talkin’ so much 
about it. And now look at us— me never so much as 


285 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


gittin’ a bite of corn-bread, and she a-boardin’ the 
minister ! Jes you take my word for it, Mrs. Flower, 
old Miss Panney wants Miss Dora to marry him, and 
she 7 s goin 7 about tellin 7 people, thinkin 7 that after a 
while they’ll do it jes ’cause everybody ’spects them 
to . 77 

“But don’t you think they intend to marry, Mike ? ” 
— forgetting to address him by his full name. 

Mike was about to strike the pie in his right hand 
with his left, in order to give emphasis to his words, 
but he refrained in time. 

“Don’t believe one cussed word of it,” said he. 
“Mr. Haverley ain’t the man to do that sort of thing 
without makin’ some of his ’rangements p’int that 
way, and none of his ’rangements do p’int that way. 
If he’d been goin’ to git married, he’d told me, you 
bet, and we’d laid out the farm work more suitable 
for a weddin’ than it is laid out. I ain’t goin’ to be- 
lieve no word about no weddin’ till I git it from some- 
body better nor Miss Panney. If he was goin’ to 
marry anybody, he’d be more like to marry that purty 
little Miss Drane. She’s right here on the spot, and 
she ain’t pizen proud, like them Bannisters. She’s as 
nice as cake, and not stuck up a bit. Bless my soul ! 
she don’t know one thing about nothin’.” 

“You’re very much mistaken, Michael ! ” exclaimed 
La Fleur. “She is very well educated, and has been 
sent to the best schools.” 

“Oh, I don’t mean school l’arnin’,” said Mike ; “I 
mean ’bout cows and chickens. She’ll come here when 
I’m milkin’, and ask me things about the critters and 
craps that I knowed when I was a baby. I reckon 
she’s the kind of a lady that knows all about what’s in 
286 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

her line, and don’t know nothin’ ’bout what’s not in 
her line. That’s the kind of young lady I like. No 
spyin’ around to see what’s been did, and what hain’t 
been did. I’ve lived with them Bannisters.” 

La Fleur gazed reflectively upon the ground. 

“I never thought of it before,” she said, “but Miss 
Cicely would make a very good wife for a gentleman 
like Mr. Haverley. But that’s neither here nor there, 
and none of our business, Michael. But if you hear 
anything more about this marriage between Mr. Hav- 
erley and Miss Bannister, I wish you’d come and tell 
me. I’ve a deal of curiosity to know if that old 
lady’s been trying to make a fool of me. It isn’t of 
any consequence, but it is natural to have a curiosity 
about such things, and I shall be very thankful to you 
if you will bring me any news that you may get. 
And when you come, Michael, you may be sure that 
you will not go away hungry, be it daytime or night.” 

“Oh, I’ll come along, you bet,” said Mike, “and I 
am much obleeged to you, Mrs. Flower, for this here 
pie.” 

When the good cook had gone to speak with Mrs. 
Drane, Mike repaired to the woodshed, where, pick- 
ing up an axe, he* stood for some moments regarding 
a short, knotty log on end in front of him. His blood 
flowed angrily. 

“Marry that there Bannister girl ! ” he said to him- 
self. “A pretty piece of business if that family was 
to come here with their money and their come-up-ence. 
They’d turn everythin’ upside down on this place. 
No use for ramshackle farmin’ they’d have, and no use 
for me, nuther, with their top-boots and stovepipe 
hats.” 


287 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Mike had been discharged from the Bannisters’ ser- 
vice because of his unwillingness to pay any attention 
to his personal appearance. 

“If that durned Miss Panney,” he continued, 
“keeps on tellin’ that to the people, things will be a 
cussed sight worse than me a-livin’ here without de- 
cent vittles, and Phoebe a-boardin’ that minister that 
ain’t paid no board yit. Blast them all, I say ! ” And 
with that he lifted up his axe and brought it down 
on the end of the upturned log with such force that 
it split into two jagged portions. 


288 


CHAPTER XXXI 


THE TEABEKRV GOWN IS DONNED 

When Miss Panney had driven herself away from 
Cobhurst, and Dr. Tolbridge’s cook had finished her 
conference with Mrs. Drane and had gone out to the 
barn to look for her carriage, Miriam Haverley was 
left with an impression upon her mind. This was to 
the effect that there was a good deal of managing and 
directing going on in the house, with which she had 
nothing to do. 

Miss Panney went into her kitchen to talk to Molly 
Tooney, and when she did not want to talk to her any 
more she sent her up-stairs, in order that she might 
talk to Dr. Tolbridge’s cook, which latter person had 
come into her kitchen, as Molly had informed her 
after La Fleur’s departure, for the purpose of finding 
fault with the family cooking. Whether or not the 
old woman had felt herself called upon to instruct 
Mike in regard to his duty, she did not know, but 
when Miriam went into the orchard for some apples, 
she had seen her talking to him at the barn gate, and 
when she came out again she saw her there still. 
Even Ralph took a little too much on himself, though, 
of course, he did not mean anything by it ; but he had 
289 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


told Molly Tooney that she ought to ' have breakfast 
sooner, in order that Miss Drane and he might get more 
promptly to their work. While considering her im- 
pression, Molly Tooney came to Miriam, her face red. 

“What do you think, miss,” said she, “that old 
bundle of a cook that was here this mornin’ has been 
doin’? She’s been bringin’ cauld vittles from the 
docther’s kitchen to that nager Mike, as if you and 
Mr. Haverley didn’t give him enough to eat. I 
looked in at his winder, a- wonderin’ what he wanted 
wid a fire in summer-time, and saw him heatin’ the 
stuff. It’s an insult to me and the family, miss, that’s 
what it is.” And the irate woman rested her 
knuckles on her hips. 

Miriam’s face turned a little pink. 

“I will inquire about that, Molly,” she said, and 
her impression became a conviction. 

Toward the close of the afternoon, Miriam went up 
to her room, and, spreading out on the bed the tea- 
berry gown of Judith Pace walk, she stood looking at 
it. She intended to put on that gown and wear it. 
But it did not fit her. It needed all sorts of altera- 
tions, and how to make these she did not know. Sew- 
ing and its kindred arts had not been taught in the 
schools to which she had been sent. It is true that 
Miss Panney had promised to cut and fit this gown 
for her, but Miriam did not wish Miss Panney to have 
anything to do with it. That old lady seemed en- 
tirely too willing to have to do with her affairs. 

While Miriam thus cogitated, Cicely Drane passed 
the open door of her room, and seeing the queer old- 
fashioned dress upon the bed, she stopped and asked 
what it was. Miriam told the whole story of Judith 
290 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Pacewalk, which greatly interested Cicely, and then 
she stated her desire to alter the dress so that she 
could wear it. But she said nothing about her pur- 
pose in doing this. She was growing very fond of 
Cicely, but she did not feel that she knew her well 
enough to entirely open her heart to her and tell her 
of her fears and aspirations in regard to her position 
in the home so dear to her. 

“Wear it, my dear?” exclaimed Cicely. “Why, of 
course I would. You may not have thought of it, but 
since you have told me that story, it seems to me that 
the fitness of things demands that you should wear 
that gown. As to the fitness of the dress itself, Fll 
help you about that. I can cut, sew, and do all that 
sort of thing, and together we will make a lovely 
gown of it for you. I do not think we ought to 
change the style and fashion of it, but we can make 
it smaller without making it anything but the de- 
lightful, old-timey gown that it is. And then, let me 
tell you another thing, dear Miriam. You must really 
put up your hair. You will never be treated with 
proper respect by your cook until you do that. 
Mother and I have been talking about this, and 
thought that perhaps we ought to mention it to you, 
because you would not be likely to think of it your- 
self, but we thought we had no right to be giving you 
advice, and so said nothing. But now I have spoken 
of it, and how angry are you f ” 

“Not a bit,” answered Miriam. “And I shall put 
up my hair, if you will show me how to do it.” 

Bo long as the Dranes admitted that they had no 
right to give her advice, Miriam was willing that 
they should give her as much as they pleased. 

291 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


For several days Cicely and Miriam cut and stitched 
and fitted and took in and let out, and one morning 
Miriam came down to breakfast attired in the pink 
chintz gown, its skirt touching the floor, and with her 
long brown hair tastefully done up in a knot upon 
her head. 

“What a fine young woman has my little sister 
grown into ! ” exclaimed Ralph. “To look at you, 
Miriam, it seems as if years must have passed since 
yesterday. That is the pink dress that Dora Ban- 
nister wore when she was here, isn’t it? ” 

This remark irritated Miriam a little. Ralph saw 
the irritation, and was sorry that he had made the 
remark. It was surprising how easily Miriam was 
irritated by references to Dora. 

“I lent it once,” said his sister, as she took her seat 
at the table, “but I shall not do it again.” 

That day Mike was interviewed in regard to what 
might be called his foreign maintenance. The in- 
genuous negro was amazed. His Irish and his African 
temperaments struggled together for expression. 

“Bless my soul, Miss Miriam ! ” he said, “nobody 
in this world ever brought me nothin’ to eat, ’cause 
they knowed I didn’t need it, and gittin’ the best of 
livin’ right here in your house, Miss Miriam, and if 
they had brought it I wouldn’t have took it and swal- 
lowed the family pride j and, what’s more, the doctor’s 
cook didn’t bring that pie on purpose for me. She 
just corned down here to ax me how to make real 
good corn-cakes, knowin’ that I was a fust-rate cook, 
and could make corn-cakes, and she wanted to know 
how to do it. When I tol’ her jes how to do it, — 
ash-cakes, griddle-cakes, batter-cakes, every kin’ of 
292 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


cake,— she was so mighty obligated that she took a 
little bit of a pie, made of meat, out of the bag, what 
she’d brought along to eat on the way home, not 
feelin’ hungry at lunch-time, and give it to me. And 
not wantin’ to hurt her feelin’s, I jes took it, and 
when I went to my house I het it and eat it, and bless 
your soul, Miss Miriam, it did taste good,* for that 
there woman in the kitchen don’t give me half 
enough to eat, and never no corn-bread and ham fat, 
which is mighty cheap, Miss Miriam, and a long sight 
better for a workin’ pusson than crusts of wheat bread 
a week old and—” 

“You don’t mean to say,” interrupted Miriam, 
“that Molly does not give you enough to eat? I’ll 
speak to her about that. She ought to be ashamed 
of herself.” 

“Now look here, Miss Miriam,” said Mike, speaking 
more earnestly, “don’t you go and do that. If you tell 
her that, she’ll go and make me the biggest corn-pone 
anybody ever seed, and she’ll put pizen into it. Oh, 
it’d never do to say anythin’ like that to Molly 
Tooney, if she’s got me to feed. Jes let me tell you, 
Miss Miriam, don’t you say nothin’ to Molly Tooney 
’bout me. I never could sleep at night if I thought 
she was stirrin’ up pizen in my vittles. But I tell 
you, Miss Miriam, if you was to say to Molly that you 
and Mr. Haverley liked corn- cakes and was always 
used to ’em before you come here, and that they ’greed 
with you, then, in course, she’d make ’em, and there’d 
be a lot left over for me, for I don’t ’spect you-all 
could eat the corn-bread she’d make, but I’d eat it, 
bein’ so powerful hungry for corn meal.” 

“Mike,” said Miriam, “you shall have corn-bread, 
293 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


but that is all nonsense about Molly. I do not see 
how you could get such a notion into your head . 77 

Mike gave himself a shrug. 

“Now look-a here, Miss Miriam , 77 he said. “I’ve 
heard before of red-headed cooks, and colored pussons 
as wasn’t satisfied with their vittles, and nobody 
knows what they died of, and the funerals was mighty 
slim and no- 7 count, the friends and congregation 
thinkin 7 there might be somethin 7 ’tagious. Them 
red-headed kind of cooks is mighty dangerous, Miss 
Miriam, and, lemme tell you, the sooner you git rid of 
them, the better . 77 

Miriam’s previous experiences had brought her 
very little into contact with negroes, and, although 
she did not care very much about what Mike was say- 
ing, it interested her to hear him talk. His intona- 
tions and manner of expressing himself pleased her 
fancy. She could imagine herself in the sunny South, 
talking to an old family servant. This fancy was 
novel and pleasant. Mike liked to talk, and was 
shrewd enough to see that Miriam liked to listen to 
him. He determined to take advantage of this oppor- 
tunity to find out something in regard to the doleful 
news brought to him by La Fleur, and which, he 
feared, might be founded upon fact. 

“Now look here, Miss Miriam , 77 said he, lowering 
his voice a little, but not enough to make him seem 
disrespectfully confidential, “what you want is a fust- 
class colored cook— not Phoebe ; she’s no good cook, 
and won’t live in the country, and is so mighty stuck 
up that she don’t like nothin’ but wheat bread, and 
ain’t no ’count, anyway. But I got a sister, Miss Miriam. 
She’s a number one, fust-class cook— knows all the 
294 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Northern and Southe’n and Eastern and Western kind 
of cooking and she’s only got two chillun, what could 
keep in the house all day long and not trouble nobody, 
’side bringin’ kindlin’ and runnin’ errands ; and the 
husband he’s dead, and that’s a good sight better, Miss 
Miriam, than havin’ him hangin’ round, eatin’ his 
meals here, and bein’ no use, ’cause he had rheumatism 
all over him, ’cept on his appetite.” 

This suggestion pleased Miriam ; here was a chance 
for another old family servant. 

“I think I should like to have your sister, Mike,” 
she said. “What is her name? Is she working for 
anybody now ? ” 

“Her name is Seraphina— Seraphina Paddock. 
Paddock was his name. She’s keepin’ house now, and 
takin’ in washin’, down to Bridgeport. I reckon she’d 
like to come here and live, mighty well.” 

“I wish you’d tell her to come and see me,” said 
Miriam. “I think it would be a very good thing for 
us to have a colored cook.” 

“Mighty good thing. There ain’t nothin’ better 
than a colored cook. But jes lemme tell you, Miss 
Miriam, my sister’s mighty particular ’bout goin’ to 
places, and takin’ her family and furniture, and settin’ 
herself up to live, when she don’t know whether things 
is fixed and settled there, or whether the fust thing 
she knows is she’s got to pull up stakes and git out 
ag’in.” 

“I am sure everything is fixed and settled here,” 
said Miriam, in surprise. 

“Well, now look-a here, Miss Miriam,” said Mike. 
“ S’pose you was clean growed up, — and you’re near that 
now, as anybody can see, — and you was goin’ to git mar- 
295 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


ried to somebody, or s’pose Mr. Haverley was goin’ to 
git married to somebody, why, don’ you see you’d go 
’way with your husband, and your brother he’d come 
here with his new wife, and everything would be 
turned over and sot upside down, and then Seraphina 
she’d have to git up and git, for there’d sure to be a 
new kin’ of cook wanted or else none, and Seraphina 
she’d fin’ her house down to Bridgeport rented to 
somebody who had gone ’way without payin’ the rent, 
and had been splittin’ kindlin’ on the front steps and 
hackin’ ’em all up, and whitewashin’ the kitchen 
what she papered last winter to hide the grease spots 
what they made through livin’ like pigs, and Sera- 
phina she can’t stand nothin’ like that.” 

Miriam burst out laughing. 

“Mike,” she cried, “nobody is going to get married 
here.” 

Mike’s eyes glistened. 

“That so, sure?” he said. “You see, Miss Miriam, 
you and your brother is both so ’tractive that I sort o’ 
s’posed you might be thinkin’ of gittin’ married, and 
if that was so, I couldn’t go to Seraphina and git her 
to come here when things wasn’t fixed and settled.” 

“If that is all that would keep your sister from 
coming,” said Miriam, “she need not trouble herself.” 

“Now look-a here, Miss Miriam,” said Mike, 
quickly, “of course everything in this world depends 
on sarcumstances, and if it happened that Mr. Haverley 
was the one to git married, and he was to take some 
lady that was livin’ here anyway, and was used to the 
place and the ways of the house, and didn’t want to go 
anywheres else, and wanted to stay here and not to 
chance nothin’, and have the same people workin’ as 
296 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


worked before, like Miss Drane, say, with her mother 
livin 7 here jes the same, and you keepin’ house jes as 
you is now, and all goin 7 on without no upsottin 7 , of 
course Seraphina she wouldn’t mind that. She’d like 
mighty well to come, whether your brother was mar- 
ried or not. But supposin’ he married a lady like Miss 
Dora Bannister. Bless my soul, Miss Miriam ! every- 
thing in this place would be turned heels up and heads 
down, and there wouldn’t be no colored pussons 
wanted in this ’stablishment, Seraphina nor me nuther. 
And I reckon you wouldn’t know the place in six 
months, Miss Miriam, with that Miss Dora runnin’ it, 
and old Miss Panney with her fingers in the pie, and 
nobody can’t help her doin’ that when Miss Dora is 
concerned, and you kin see for yourself, Miss Miriam, 
that Seraphina, and me, too, is bound to be bounced if 
it was to come to that.” 

“I will talk to you again about your sister,” said 
Miriam, and she went away, amused. 

Mike was delighted. 

“It’s all a cussed old lie, jes as I thought it wuz,” 
said he to himself. “And that old Miss Panney ’ll fin’ 
them young uns is harder nuts to crack than me and 
Phoebe wuz. I got in some good licks for dat purty 
Miss Cicely, too.” 

Miriam’s amusement gradually faded away as she 
approached the house. At first it had seemed funny 
to hear any one talk about Ralph or herself getting 
married, but now it did not appear so funny. On the 
contrary, that part of Mike’s remarks which concerned 
Ralph and Dora was positively depressing. Suppose 
such a thing were really to happen? It would be 
dreadful ! She had thought her brother over-fond of 
297 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Dora’s society, but the matter had never appeared to 
her in the serious aspect in which she saw it now. 

She had intended to find Ralph, and speak to him 
about Mike’s sister, but now she changed her mind. 
She was wearing the teaberry gown, and she would 
attend to her own affairs as mistress of the house. If 
Ralph could be so cruel as to marry Dora, and put 
her at the head of everything,— and if she were here 
at all, she would want to be at the head of everything, 
—then she, Miriam, would take off the teaberry gown 
and lock it up in the old trunk. 

“But can it be possible,” she asked herself, as a tear 
or two began to show themselves in her eyes, “that 
Ralph could be so cruel as that?” 

As she reached the door of the house, Cicely Drane 
was coming out. Involuntarily Miriam threw her 
arms around her and folded her close to the teaberry 
gown. 

Miriam was not in the habit of giving way to out- 
bursts of this sort, and as she released Cicely she said, 
with a little apologetic blush : 

“It is so nice to have you here. I feel as if you 
ought not ever to go away.” 

“I am sure I do not want to go, dear,” said Cicely, 
with the smile of good-fellowship that always went to 
the heart of Miriam. 


298 


CHAPTER XXXII 


MISS PANNEY FEELS SHE MUST CHANGE HER PLANS 

Molly Tooney waited with some impatience the re- 
sult of Miriam’s interview with Mike. If the “ nager ” 
should be discharged for taking cold victuals like a 
beggar, Molly would be glad of it. It would suit her 
much better to have a nice Irish boy in his place. 

But when Miriam told her cook, that evening, that 
Mike had satisfactorily explained the matter of the 
pie, and also remarked that in future she would like 
to have bread or cakes made of corn meal, and that 
she couldn’t see any reason why Mike, who was 
accustomed to this sort of food, should not have it 
always, Molly’s soul blazed within her. It would have 
burst out into fiery speech, but the girl before her, 
although young, was so quiet and sedate, so suggestive 
of respect, that Molly, scarcely knowing why she did 
it, curbed herself ; but she instantly gave notice that 
she wished to quit the place on the next day. 

When Ralph heard this, he was very angry, and 
wanted to go and talk to the woman. 

“ Don’t you do anything of the kind,” said Miriam. 
“It is not your business to talk to cooks. I do that. 
And I want to go to-morrow to Thorbury and get some 
299 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


one to come to ns by the day until the new cook 
arrives. If I can get her, I am going to engage Sera- 
phina, Mike’s sister.” 

Ealph looked at her and laughed. 

“Well, well, Miss Teaberry,” he said, “you are get- 
ting on bravely. Putting up your hair and letting 
down your skirts has done wonders. You are the 
true lady of the house now.” 

“And what have you to say against that?” asked 
Miriam. 

“Not a word ! ” he cried. “I like it— I am charmed 
with it ; and I will drive you into Thorbury to-morrow. 
And as to Mike’s sister, you can have all his relations, 
if you like, provided they do not charge too much. 
If we had a lot of darkies here, that would make us 
more truly ramshackle and jolly than we are now.” 

“Ealph,” said Miriam, with dignity, “stop pulling 
my ears. Don’t you see Mrs. Drane coming?” 

The next day Miriam and Ealph jogged into Thor- 
bury. Miriam, not wearing the teaberry gown, but 
having its spirit upon her, had planned to inquire of 
the grocer with whom she dealt where she might find 
a woman such as she needed, but Ealph did not favor 
this. 

“Let us first go and see Mrs. Tolbridge,” he said. 
“She is one of our first and best friends, and probably 
knows every woman in town, and if she doesn’t, the 
doctor does.” 

This last point had its effect upon Miriam. She 
wanted to see Dr. Tolbridge to ask if he could not stop 
in and quiet the mind of Cicely, who really wanted to 
see him about her work, but who did not like, as 
Miriam easily conjectured, to ask Ealph to send her 
300 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


to town. Miriam wished to make things as pleasant 
as possible for Cicely, and Mrs. Tolbridge had not, so 
far, meddled in the least with her concerns. If, 
inadvertently, Ralph had proposed a consultation 
with Mrs. Bannister, there would have been a hubbub 
in the gig. 

The doctor and his wife were both at home, and 
when the business of the Haverleys had been stated 
to them, Mrs. Tolbridge clapped her hands. 

“ Truly,” she cried, “this is a piece of rare good for- 
tune. We will lend them La Fleur. Do you know, 
my dear girl,” she said to Miriam, “that the doctor 
and I are going away? He will attend a medical 
convention at Barport, and I will visit my mother, to 
whom he will come later. It will be a grand vacation 
for us, for we shall stay away from Thorbury for two 
weeks, and the only thing which has troubled us is to 
decide what we shall do with La Fleur while we are 
gone. We want to shut up the house, and she does 
not want to go to her friends, and if she should do so, 
I am afraid we might lose her. I am sure she would 
be delighted to come to you, especially as the Dranes 
are with you. Shall I ask her ? ” 

Miriam jumped to her feet, with an expression of 
alarm on her countenance which amused the doctor 
and her brother. 

“Oh, please, Mrs. Tolbridge, don’t do that!” she 
exclaimed. “Truly, I could not have a great cook 
like La Fleur in our kitchen. I should be frightened 
to death, and she would have nothing to do anything 
with. You know, Mrs. Tolbridge, that we live in an 
awfully plain way. We are not in the least bit rich 
or stylish or anything of the sort. If Cicely had not 
301 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


told me that she and her mother lived in the same 
way, we could not have taken them. We keep only 
a man and a woman, you know, and we all do a lot of 
work ourselves, and Molly Tooney was always growl- 
ing because there were not enough things to cook 
with, and what a French cook would do in our kitchen 
I really do not know. She would drive us crazy ! ” 

“Come, now,” said the doctor, laughing, “don’t 
frighten yourself in that way, my little lady. If La 
Fleur consents to go to you for a couple of weeks, she 
will understand the circumstances, and will be per- 
fectly satisfied with what she finds. She is a woman 
of sense. You would better let Mrs. Tolbridge go and 
talk with her.” 

Miriam sat down in a sort of despair. Here, again, 
her affairs were being managed for her. Would she 
ever be able to maintain her independence f She had 
said all she could say, and now she hoped that La 
Fleur would treat the proposition with contempt. 

But the great cook did nothing of the kind. In 
five minutes, Mrs. Tolbridge returned with the infor- 
mation that La Fleur would be overjoyed to go to 
Cobhurst for a fortnight. She wanted some country 
air $ she wanted to see the Dranes ; she had a great 
admiration for Miss Haverley, being perfectly able to 
judge, although she had met her but once, that she 
was a lady born $ she looked upon her brother as a most 
superior gentleman ; and she would be perfectly content 
with whatever she found in the Cobhurst kitchen. 

“She says,” added Mrs. Tolbridge, “that if you give 
her a gridiron, a saucepan, and a fire, she will cook a 
meal fit for a duke. With brains, she says, one can 
make up all deficiencies.” 

302 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Ralph took his sister aside. 

“Do go out and see her, Miriam,” he said. “If we 
take her, we shall oblige our friends here, and please 
everybody. It will only be for a little while, and then 
you can have your old colored mammy and the 
pickaninnies, just as you have planned.” 

When Miriam came back from the kitchen, she 
found that the doctor had left the house and was go- 
ing to his buggy at the gate. 

“Oh, Ralph ! ” she exclaimed, “you do not know 
what a nice woman she is. She is just like an old 
family nurse.” And then she ran out to catch the 
doctor and talk to him about Cicely. 

“Your sister is a child yet,” remarked Mrs. Tol- 
bridge, with a smile. 

“Indeed she is,” said Ralph. “And she longs for 
what she never had — old family servants, household 
ties, and all that sort of thing. And I believe she 
would prefer a good old Southern mammy to a fine 
young lover.” 

“Of course she would,” said Mrs. Tolbridge. “That 
would be natural to any girl of her age— except, per- 
haps,” she added, “one like Dora Bannister. I believe 
she was in love when she was fifteen.” 

It seemed strange to Ralph that the mention of a 
thing of this sort, which must have happened three 
or four years ago, and to a lady whom he had known 
a very short time, should send a little pang of jealousy 
through his heart, but such was the fact. 

There were picnic meals at Cobhurst that day, for 
La Fleur was not to arrive until the morrow, and they 
were all very jolly. 

Mike was in a state of exuberant delight at the 
303 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


idea of haying that good Mrs. Flower in the place of 
Molly Tooney. He worked until nearly twelve 
o’clock at night to scour and brighten the kitchen and 
its contents for her reception. 

Into this region of bliss there descended, about the 
middle of the afternoon, a frowning apparition. It 
was that of Miss Panney, to whom Molly had gone 
that morning, informing her that she had been dis- 
charged without notice by that minx of a girl, who 
didn’t know anything more about housekeeping than 
she did about blacksmithing, and wanted to put “a 
dirty hathen nager” over the head of a first-class 
Christian cook. 

When she heard this news, the old lady was amazed 
and indignant, and she soundly rated Molly for not 
coming to her instantly, before she left her place. 
Had she known of the state of affairs, she was sure 
she could have pacified Miriam and arranged for 
Molly to retain her place. It was very important for 
Miss Panney, though she did not say so, to have some 
one in the Cobhurst family who would keep her in- 
formed of what was happening there. If possible, 
Molly must go back. And, anyway, the old lady 
determined to go to Cobhurst and look into matters. 
Miss Panney was glad to find Miriam alone on the 
front piazza, training some over-luxuriant vines upon 
the pillars $ and the moment her eyes fell upon the 
girl, she saw that she was dressed as a woman, and not 
in the youthful costume in which she had last seen 
her. This strengthened the old lady’s previous im- 
pression that Kalph’s sister was rapidly becoming the 
real head of this house, and that it would be necessary 
to be very careful in her conduct toward her. It 
304 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


might be difficult, even impossible, to carry out her 
match-making plans if Miriam should rise up in op- 
position to them. 

The old lady was very cordial, and entreated that 
Miriam should go on with her work, while she sat in 
an arm-chair near by. After a little ordinary chat, 
Miss Panney mentioned that she had heard that Molly 
Tooney had been discharged. Instantly Miriam’s 
pride arose and her manner cooled. Here again was 
somebody meddling with her affairs. In as few words 
as possible, she stated that the woman had not been 
discharged, but had left of her own accord without 
any good reason ; that she did not like her, and was 
glad to get rid of her ; that she had an excellent 
cook in view, and that until this person could come 
to her, she had engaged, temporarily, a very good 
woman. 

All this she stated without question or remark from 
Miss Panney, and when she had finished, she began 
again to tie the vines to their wires. Miss Panney 
gazed very steadily through her spectacles at the res- 
olute side face of the girl, and said only that she was 
very glad that Miriam had been able to make such a 
good arrangement. It was plain enough to her that 
Molly Tooney must be dropped, but in doing this 
Miss Panney would not drop her plans. They would 
simply be changed to suit circumstances. 

Had Miss Panney known who it was who was coming 
temporarily to the Cobhurst kitchen, it is not likely 
that she could have glided so quietly from the subject 
of household service to that of the apple prospect and 
Miriam’s success with hens, and from these to the 
Dranes. 


305 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“Do you expect to have them much longer with 
you?” she asked. “The work the doctor gave the 
young lady must be nearly finished. When that is 
done, I suppose she will go back to town to try to get 
something to do there.” 

“Oh, they have not thought of going,” said Miriam. 
“The doctor’s book is a very long one, and when I saw 
him yesterday, he told me that he had ever so much 
more work for her to do, and he is going to bring it 
out here before he goes to Barport. I should be very 
sorry indeed if Cicely had to leave here, and I don’t 
think I should let her do it, work or no work. I like 
her better and better every day, and it is the greatest 
comfort and pleasure to have her here. It almost 
seems as if she were my sister. And Mrs. Drane is just 
as nice as she can be. She is so good and kind, and 
never meddles with anything.” 

Miss Panney listened with great attention. She 
now saw how she must change her plans. If Ralph 
were to marry Dora, Miriam must like Dora. As for 
his own liking, there would be no trouble about that, 
after the Drane girl should be got rid of. In regard 
to this riddance, Miss Panney had intended to make 
an early move and a decided one. Now she saw that 
this would not do. The Drane girl, that alien in- 
truder whom Dr. Tolbridge’s treachery had thrust 
into this household, was the great obstacle to the old 
lady’s schemes, but to oust her suddenly would ruin 
everything. Miriam would rise up in opposition, and 
at present that would be fatal. Miriam was not a girl 
whose grief and anger at the loss of one thing could 
be pacified by the promise of another. Having lost 
Cicely, she would turn her back upon Dora, and, what 
306 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


would be worse, she would undoubtedly turn Ralph’s 
back in that direction. 

To this genial young man his sister was still his 
chief object on earth. Later, this might not be the 
case. 

When Miriam began to like Dora,— and this must 
happen, for, in Miss Panney’s opinion, the Bannister 
girl was in every way ten times more charming than 
Cicely Drane,— then, cautiously, but with quick vigor, 
Miss Panney would deliver the blow which would send 
the Dranes not only from Cobburst, but back to their 
old home. In the capacity of an elderly and ex- 
perienced woman who knew what everybody said and 
thought, and who was able to make her words go to 
the very spinal marrow of a sensitive person, she was 
sure she could do this. And when she had done it, it 
would cheer her to think that she had not only fur- 
thered her plans, but revenged herself on the treacher- 
ous doctor. 

Now was heard from within the voice of Cicely, 
who had come down-stairs from her work, and who, 
not knowing that Miriam had a visitor, was calling to 
her that it was time to get dinner. 

“My dear,” said Miss Panney, “go in and attend to 
your duties, and, if you will let me, I shall like ever so 
much to stay and take dinner with you, and you need 
not put yourself to the least trouble about me. You 
ought to have very simple meals now that you are 
doing your own work. I very much want to become 
better acquainted with your little friend Cicely and 
her good mother. Now that I know that you care so 
much for them, I feel greatly interested in them both, 
and you know, my dear, there is no way of becoming 
307 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


acquainted with people which is better than sitting 
at table with them .’ 7 

Miriam was not altogether pleased, but said the 
proper things, and went to call Mike to take the roan 
mare, who was standing asleep between the shafts of 
her phaeton. 

Miss Panney now had her cues. She did not offer 
to help in any way, and made no suggestions in any 
direction. At luncheon she made herself agreeable 
to everybody, and before the meal was over they all 
thought her a most delightful old lady with a wonder- 
ful stock of good stories. On her side, Miss Panney 
was also greatly pleased. She found Ealph even a 
better fellow than she had thought him. He had not 
only a sunny temper, but a bright wit, and he knew 
what was being done in the world. Cicely, too, was 
satisfactory. She was a most attractive little thing, 
pretty to a dangerous extent, but in her treatment of 
Ealph there was not the least sign of flirtation or 
demureness. She was as free and familiar with him 
as if she had known him always. 

“Men are not apt to marry the girls they have 
known always , 77 said Miss Panney to herself, “and 
Dora can do better than this one if she has but the 
chance ; and the chance she must have . 77 

While listening with the most polite attention to a 
reminiscence related by Mrs. Drane, Miss Panney ear- 
nestly considered this subject. She had thought of 
many plans, some of them vague, but all of the same 
general character, for bringing Dora and Miriam to- 
gether and promoting a sisterly affection between 
them, for her mind had been busy with the subject 
since Miriam had left her alone on the piazza. But 
308 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


none of the plans suited her. They were clumsy and 
involved too much action on the part of Dora. Sud- 
denly a satisfying idea shot into the old lady’s mind, 
and she smiled so pleasantly that Mrs. Drane was 
greatly encouraged, and entered into some details of 
her reminiscence which she had intended to omit, 
thinking they might prove tiresome. 

“If they only could go away together, somewhere,” 
said Miss Panney to herself, “that would be grand— 
that would settle everything. It would not be long 
before Dora and Miriam would be the dearest of 
chums, and with Ralph’s sister away, that Drane girl 
would have to go. It would all be so natural, so plain, 
so beautiful.” 

When Miss Panney drove home, about the middle 
of the afternoon, she was still smiling complacently at 
this good idea, and wondering how she might carry it 
out. 


309 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


LA FLEUR LOOKS FUTUREWARD 

According to his promise, Dr. Tolbridge came to 
Cobhurst on the morning of his intended departure 
for Barport, bringing with him more of his manuscript 
and some other copying which he wished Cicely to 
do. He had never known until now how much he 
needed a secretary. He saw only the ladies, Ralph 
having gone off to try to shoot some woodcock. The 
young man was not in a good humor, for he had no 
dog, and his discontent was increased by the reflection 
that a fine setter had been presented to him, and he 
had not yet come into possession of it. He wanted 
the dog Congo because he thought it was a good dog, 
and also because Dora Bannister had given it to him, 
and he was impatient to carry out the plan which 
Dora had proposed to get the animal to Cobhurst. 

But this plan, which included a visit from Dora, in 
order that the dog might come to his new home with- 
out compulsion, and which, as modified by Ralph, in- 
cluded a drive or a walk through the woods with the 
donor in order that the dog might learn to follow him, 
needed Miriam's cooperation. And this cooperation 
he could not induce her to give. She seemed to have 
310 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


all sorts of reasons for putting off the invitation for 
which Miss Bannister was evidently waiting. Of 
course there was no reason for waiting, but girls are 
queer. A word from Miriam would bring her, but 
Miriam was very unresponsive to suggestions concern- 
ing said word. 

“It is not only ourselves/’ said the doctor, in reply 
to some questions from Mrs. Drane in regard to the 
intended journey, “who are going this afternoon. 
We take with us Mrs. Bannister and Dora. This is 
quite a sudden plan, only determined upon last night. 
They both want a little Barport life before the sea- 
son closes, and thought it would be pleasant to go 
with us.” 

Mrs. Drane and Cicely were not very much in- 
terested in the Bannisters, and received this news 
tranquilly, but Miriam felt a little touch of remorse, 
and wished she had asked Dora to come out some 
afternoon and bring her dog, which poor Ralph 
seemed so anxious to have. She asked the doctor 
how long he thought the Bannisters would stay away. 

“Oh, we shall pick them up as we come back,” he 
said, “and that will be in about two weeks.” And 
with this the busy man departed. 

Since the beginning of his practice, Dr. Tolbridge 
had never gone away from Thorbury for an absence 
of any considerable duration without first calling on 
Miss Panney to see if she needed any attention from 
him before he left, and on this occasion he determined 
not to depart from this custom. It is true, she was 
very angry with him, but, so far as he could help it, 
he would not allow her anger to interfere with the 
preservation of a life which he considered valuable. 

311 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


When the old lady was told that the doctor had 
called and had asked for her, she stamped her foot 
and vowed she would not see him. Then her curiosity 
to know what brought him there triumphed over her 
resentment, and she went down. Her reception of 
him was cold and severe, and she answered his ques- 
tions regarding her health as if he were a census- 
taker, exhibiting not the slightest gratitude for his 
concern regarding her physical well-being, nor the 
slightest hesitation in giving him information which 
might enable him to further said well-being. 

The doctor was as cool as was his patient, and, when 
he had finished his professional remarks, informed her 
that the Bannisters were to go with him to Barport. 
When Miss Panney heard this, she sprang from her 
chair with the air of an Indian of the wild West 
bounding with uplifted tomahawk upon a defenceless 
foe. The' doctor involuntarily pushed back his chair, 
but before he could make up his mind whether he 
ought to be frightened or amused, Miss Panney sat 
down as promptly as she had risen, and a grim smile 
appeared upon her face. 

“How you do make me jump with your sudden 
announcements,” she said. “I am sure I am very glad 
that Dora is going away. She needed a change, and 
sea air is better than anything else for her. How 
long will they stay ? ” 

The slight trace of her old cordiality which showed 
itself in Miss Panney’s demeanor through the few re- 
maining minutes of the interview greatly pleased Dr. 
Tolbridge. 

“She is a good old woman at heart,” he said to him- 
self, “and when she gets into one of her bad tempers, 
312 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

the best way to bring her around is to interest her in 
people she loves, and Dora Bannister is surely one of 
those.” 

When the doctor had gone Miss Panney gave her- 
self up to a half- minute of unrestrained laughter, 
which greatly surprised old Mr. Witton, who hap- 
pened to be passing the parlor door. Then she sat 
down to write a letter to Dora Bannister, which she 
intended that young lady to receive soon after her 
arrival at Barport. 

That afternoon the good La Fleur came to Cobhurst, 
her soul enlivened by the determination to show 
what admirable meals could be prepared from the 
most simple materials, and with the prospect of spend- 
ing a fortnight with Mrs. Drane and Cicely, and with 
that noble gentleman, the master of the estate, and to 
pass these weeks in the country. She was a great 
lover of things rural : she liked to see, pecking and 
scratching, the fowls with which she prepared such 
dainty dishes. In her earlier days, the sight of an old 
hen wandering near a bed of celery, with a bed of 
beets in the middle distance, had suggested the salad 
for which she afterwards became somewhat famous. 

She knew a great deal about garden vegetables, and 
had been heard to remark that brains were as neces- 
sary in the culling of fruits and roots and leaves and 
stems as for their culinary transformation into attrac- 
tions for the connoisseur’s palate. She was glad, too, 
to have the opportunity of an occasional chat with 
that intelligent negro Mike, and, so far as she could 
judge, there were no objections to the presence of 
Miriam in the house. 

Ralph did not come back until after La Fleur had 
313 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


arrived, and lie returned hungry, and a little more out 
of humor than when he started away. 

“I had hoped , 77 he said to Miriam, “to get enough 
birds to give the new cook a chance of showing her 
skill in preparing a dish of game for dinner $ but 
these two, which I may say I accidentally shot, are all 
I brought. It is impossible to shoot without a dog, 
and I think I shall go to-morrow morning to see Miss 
Bannister and ask her to let me take Congo home with 
me. He will soon learn to know me, and the wood- 
cock season does not last forever . 77 

“But Dora will not be at home , 77 said Miriam. “She 
goes to Barport to-day with the Tolbridges . 77 

Ralph opened his mouth to Speak, and then he shut 
it again. It was of no use to say anything, and he 
contented himself with a sigh as he went to the rack 
to put up his gun. Miriam sighed, too, and, as she did 
so, she hoped that it was the dog and not Dora that 
Ralph was sighing about. 

The next morning there came to Cobhurst a man 
bringing a black setter and a verbal message from 
Miss Bannister to the effect that if Mr. Haverley 
would tie up the dog and feed him himself for two or 
three days, and be kind to him, she had no doubt 
Congo would soon know him as his master. 

“Now that is the kind of a girl I like , 77 said Ralph 
to his sister. “She promises to do a thing, and she 
does it, even if the other party is not prompt in 
stepping forward to attend to his share of the affair . 77 

There was nothing to say against this, and Miriam 
said nothing, but contented herself with admiring 
the dog, which was worthy of all the praise she could 
give him. Congo was tied up, and Mike and Mrs. 

314 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Drane and Cicely, and finally La Fleur, came to look 
at him and to speak well of him. When all had gone 
away but the colored man and the cook, the latter 
asked why Miss Bannister had been mentioned in 
connection with this dog. 

“’Cause he was her dog,” said Mike. “She got him 
when he was a little puppy no bigger nor a cat, and 
you’d ’a’ thought, to see her carry him about and put 
him in a little bed and kiver him up o’ night and talk 
to him like a human bein’, that she loved him as 
much as if he’d been a little baby brother ; and she’s 
thought all the world of him straight ’long until now, 
and she’s gone and give him to Mr. Haverley.” 

La Fleur reflected for a moment. 

“Are you sure, Mike,” she asked, “that they are 
not engaged ? ” 

“I’m dead sartin sure of it,” he said. “His sister 
told me so with her own lips. Givin’ dogs don’t mean 
nothin’, Mrs. Flower. If people married all the 
people they give dogs to, there’d be an awful mix in 
this world. Bless my soul, I’d have about eight wives 
my own self ! ” 

La Fleur smiled at Mike’s philosophy, and applied 
his information to the comfort of her mind. 

“If his sister says they are not engaged,” she 
thought, “it’s like they are not, but it looks to me as 
if it were time to take the Bannister pot off the fire.” 

La Fleur now retired to a seat under a tree near 
the kitchen door, and applied her intellect to the 
consideration of the dinner and the future of the 
Drane family and herself. The present state of affairs 
suited her admirably. She could desire no change in 
it, except that Mr. Haverley should marry Miss Cicely 
315 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


in order to give security to the situation. For her- 
self, this was the place above all others at which she 
would like to live, and a mistress such as Miss Cicely, 
who knew little of domestic affairs, but appreciated 
everything that was well done, was the mistress she 
would like to serve. She would be sorry to leave the 
good doctor, for whom, as a man of intellect, she had 
an earnest sympathy, but he did not live in the coun- 
try, and the Dranes were nearer and dearer to her 
than he was. He should not be deserted nor neg- 
lected. If she came to spend the rest of her life on 
this fine old estate, she would engage for him a good 
young cook, who would be carefully instructed by 
her in regard to the peculiarities of his diet, and who 
should always be under her supervision. She would 
get him one from England,— she knew of several there 
who had been her kitchen-maids,— and she would 
guarantee that the one she selected would give satis- 
faction. 

Having settled this part of her plan, she now began 
to ponder upon that important feature of it which 
concerned the marriage of Miss Cicely with Ralph 
Haverley. Why, under the circumstances, this should 
not take place as a mere matter of course and as the 
most natural thing in the world, she could not 
imagine. But in all countries young people are very 
odd, and must be managed. She had not yet had any 
good opportunity of judging of the relations between 
these two. She had noticed that they were on very 
easy and friendly terms with each other, but this was 
not enough. It might be a long time before people 
who were jolly good friends came to look upon each 
other from a marrying point of view. Things ought 
316 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


to be hurried up. That Miss Bannister would be away 
for two weeks. She, La Fleur, would be here for two 
weeks. She must try what she could do. The fire must 
be brightened — the draught turned on, ashes raked 
out, kindling-wood thrust in, if necessary, to make 
things hotter. At all events, the dinner-bell must 
ring at the appointed time, in a fortnight, less one day. 

Ralph came striding across the lawn, and, noticing 
La Fleur, approached her. 

“I am glad to see you,” he said, “for I want to tell 
you how much I enjoyed your beefsteak this morning. 
One could not get anything better cooked than that 
at Delmonico’s. The dinner last night was very 
good, too.” 

“Oh, don’t mention that, sir,” said La Fleur, who 
had risen the moment she saw him, and now stood 
with her head on one side, her eyes cast down, and a 
long smile on her face. “That dinner was nothing to 
what I shall give you when Miss Miriam has sent for 
some things from the town which I want. And as for 
the steak, I beg you will not judge me until I have 
got for myself the cuts I want from the butcher. 
Then you shall see, sir, what I can do for you. In a 
beautiful home like this, Mr. Haverley, the cooking 
should be of the noblest and best.” 

Ralph laughed. 

“So long as you stay with us, La Fleur,” he said, 
“I am sure Cobhurst will have all it deserves in that 
respect.” 

“Thank you very much, sir,” she said, dropping a 
little courtesy. Then, raising her eyes, she cast them 
over the landscape, and bent them again with a little 
sigh. 


317 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“You are a gentleman of feeling, Mr. Haverley,” 
she said, “and can understand the feelings of another, 
even if she be an old woman and a cook, and I know 
you can comprehend my sentiments when I find my- 
self again serving my most gracious former mistress 
Mrs. Drane, and her lovely daughter, whose beautiful 
qualities of mind and soul it does not become me to 
speak of to you, sir. They were most kind to me 
when I first came to this country, she and her daughter 
—two angels, sir, whom I would serve forever. Do not 
think, sir, that I would not gladly serve you and your 
lady sister, but they are above all. It was last night, 
sir, as I sat looking out of my window at the beautiful 
trees in the moonlight, and I have not seen such trees 
in the moonlight since I lived in the Isle of Wight at 
Lord Monkley’s country house there,— La Fleur was 
his chef, and I was only there on a visit, because at 
that tim£ I was attending to the education of my boy, 
who died a year afterwards,— and I thought then, sir, 
looking out at the moonlight, that I would go with 
the Dranes wherever they might go, and I would live 
with them wherever they might live, that I would 
serve them always with the best I could do, and that 
none could do better. But I beg your pardon, sir, 
for standing here and talking in this way, sir.” And 
with a little courtesy, and with her head more on one 
side and more bowed down, she shuffled away. 

“How, then,” said she to herself, as she entered the 
kitchen, “if I have given him a notion of a wife with 
a first-class cook attached, it is a good bit of work to 
begin with.” 


318 


CHAPTER XXXIV 


A PLAN WHICH SEEMS TO SUIT EVERYBODY 

Since her drive home from Thorbury with Ralph 
Haverley, Cicely Drane had not ceased to consider 
the hypothesis which had been suggested to her that 
day by La Fleur. But this consideration was ac- 
companied by no plan of action, no defined hopes, no 
fears, no suspicions, and no change in her manner to- 
ward the young man, except that, in accordance with 
her mother’s prudential notions, which had been 
indicated to her in a somewhat general way, she had 
restricted herself in the matter of tete-a-tetes and 
dual rambles. 

She looked upon the relations between Ralph and 
herself in the most simple and natural manner possible. 
She was enjoying life at Cobhurst. It delighted her to 
see her mother so contented and so well. She was 
greatly interested in her work, for she was a girl of 
keen intelligence, and thoroughly appreciated and 
enjoyed the novel theories and reflections of Dr. 
Tolbridge. She thought it the j oiliest thing in the 
world to have La Fleur here with them. She was 
growing extremely fond of Miriam, who, although a 
good deal younger than herself, appeared to be grow- 
ing older with wonderful rapidity, and every day to 
319 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

be growing nearer and dearer to her, and she liked 
Kalph better than any man she had ever met. She 
knew but little of Dora Bannister, and had no reason 
to suppose that any matrimonial connection between 
her and Mr. Haverley had ever been thought of ; in 
fact, in the sincerity and naturalness of her disposition, 
she could see no reason why she should not continue 
to like Mr. Haverley, to like him better and better, 
if he gave her reason to do so, and, more than that, 
not to forget the hypothesis regarding him. 

La Fleur was not capable of comprehending the 
situation with the sagacity and insight of Miss Panney, 
but she was a woman of sense, and was now well con- 
vinced that it would never do to speak again to Miss 
Cicely in the way she had spoken to her in Dr. 
Tolbridge’s hall. In her affection and enthusiasm, she 
had gone too far that time, and she knew that any 
further suggestions of the sort would be apt to make 
the girl fly away like a startled bird. Whatever was 
to be done must be done without the cooperation of 
the young lady. 

Miss Panney’s letter to Dora Bannister contained 
some mild reproaches for the latter’s departure from 
Thorbury without notice to her oldest friend, but her 
scolding was not severe, and there was as much pleas- 
ant information and inquiry as the writer could think 
of. Moreover, the epistle contained the suggestion 
that Dora should invite Miriam Haverley to come 
down and spend some time with her while she was at 
the sea-shore. This suggestion none but a very old 
friend would be likely to make, but Miss Panney was 
old enough for anything, in friendship or in any other 
way. 


320 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

“My mind was on Miriam Haverley,” the old lady 
wrote, “ at the moment I heard that you had gone to 
Barport, and it struck me that a trip of the sort is ex- 
actly what that young person needs. She is shut up in 
the narrowest place in which a girl can be put, with re- 
sponsibilities entirely beyond her years, and which help 
to cramp her mind and her ideas. She should have a 
total change; she should see how the world, outside of 
her school and her country home, lives and acts— in 
fact, she needs exactly what Barport and you and Mrs. 
Bannister can give her. I do not believe that you can 
bestow a greater benefit upon a fellow-being than to ask 
Miriam to pay you a visit while you are at the seaside. 
Think of this, I beg of you, my dear Dora. ’ ’ 

This letter was read and re-read with earnest at- 
tention. Dora was fond of Miriam, in a way, and 
would be very glad to give her a glimpse of seaside 
life. Moreover, Miriam’s companionship would be 
desirable, for although Miss Bannister did not expect 
to lack acquaintances, there would be times when she 
could not call upon these, and Miriam could always 
be called upon. 

After a consultation with Mrs. Bannister, who was 
pleased with the idea of having some one to go about 
with Dora when she did not feel like it,— which was 
almost all the time,— Dora wrote to Miriam, asking 
her to come and visit her during the rest of her stay 
at Barport. While writing, Dora was not at all an- 
noyed by the thought which made her stop for a few 
minutes and look out of the window— that possibly 
Miriam might not like to make the journey alone, and 
that her brother might come with her. She did not, 
however, mention this contingency, but smiled as she 
went on writing. 


321 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Miriam, attired in her teaberry gown, came up from 
the Cobhurst kitchen, and walked out toward the 
garden. She was not in good spirits. She had al- 
ready found that La Fleur was a woman superior to 
influences from any power derived from the wearing 
of Judith Pacewalk’s pink chintz dress. She was con- 
vinced that at this moment that eminent cook was 
preparing a dinner for the benefit of the Dranes, 
without any thought of the tastes or desires of the 
mistress of the house or its master. And yet she could 
find nothing to say in opposition to this ; consequently, 
she had walked away unprotesting, and that act was 
so contrary to her disposition that it saddened her. 
If she had supposed that a bad meal would be the re- 
sult of the bland autocracy she had just encountered, 
she would have been better satisfied, but as she knew 
the case would be quite otherwise, her spirits con- 
tinued to fall. Even the meat, that morning, had 
been ordered without consultation with her. 

As Miriam walked dolefully toward the garden gate, 
Ralph came riding from Thorbury with the mail-bag, 
and in it was the letter from Dora. 

“Oh, Ralph ! ” cried Miriam, when, with her young 
soul glowing in her face, she thrust the open letter 
into her brother’s hand, “may I go? I never saw the 
sea ! ” 

Of Ralph’s decision there could be no question, and 
the Cobhurst family was instantly in a flurry. Mrs. 
Drane, Cicely, and Miriam gave all their thoughts and 
every available moment of time to the work necessary 
on the simple outfit that was all that Miriam needed 
or desired, and in two days she was ready for the 
journey. Ralph was glad to do anything he could to 
322 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


help in the good work, hut as this was little, he was 
obliged to content himself with encomiums upon the 
noble character of Dora Bannister. That she should 
even think of offering such an inexpressible delight 
and benefit to his sister was sufficient proof of Miss 
Bannister’s solid worth and tender, gracious nature. 
These remarks made to the ladies in general really 
did help in the good work, for while Ralph was talk- 
ing in this way Cicely bent more earnestly over her 
sewing and stitched faster. Until now she had never 
thought much about Miss' Bannister ; but, without in- 
tending it or in the least desiring it, she began to 
think a good deal about her, even when Ralph was 
not there. 

Miriam herself settled the manner of her journey. 
She had thought for a moment of Ralph as an escort, 
but this would cause him trouble and loss of time, 
which was not at all necessary, and— what was very 
important— would at least double the expenses of the 
trip. So she wrote to Miss Pender, the head teacher 
in her late school, begging that she might come to 
her and be shipped to Barport. Miss Pender had 
great skill and experience in the shipping of girls 
from the school to destinations in all parts of the 
country. Despatched by Miss Pender, the wildest or 
the vaguest school-girl would go safely to her home, 
or to whatever spot she might be sent. 

As this was vacation, and she happened to be rest- 
ing idly at school, Miss Pender gladly undertook the 
congenial task offered her, and welcomed Miriam, and 
then shipped her to Barport with even more than her 
usual success. 

When the dear girl had gone, everybody greatly 
323 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


missed her— even La Fleur, for of certain sweets the 
child had eaten twice as much as any one else in the 
house. But all were happy over her great pleasure, 
including the cook, who hated to have even the nicest 
girls come into her kitchen. 

Thus far Miss Panney’s plan worked admirably, but 
one idea she had in regard to Miriam’s departure 
never came into the mind of any one at Cobhurst. 
That the Dranes should go away because Miriam, as 
mistress of the establishment, was gone, was not 
thought of for an instant. With La Fleur and Mrs. 
Drane in the house, was there any reason why 
domestic and all other affairs should not go on as 
usual during Miriam’s brief absence ? 

Everything did indeed go on pretty much as it had 
gone on before, although it might have been thought 
that Ralph was now living with the Dranes. La 
Fleur expanded herself into all departments of the 
household, and insisted upon doing many little things 
that Cicely had been in the habit of doing for herself 
and her mother $ and, with the assistance of Mike, 
who was always glad to help the good Mrs. Flower 
whenever she wanted him — which was always — and 
did it whenever he had a chance— which was often— 
the household wheels moved smoothly. 

In one feature of the life at Cobhurst there was a 
change. The absence of Miriam threw Cicely and 
Ralph much more together. For instance, they break- 
fasted by themselves, for Mrs. Drane had always been 
late in coming down in the morning, and it was diffi- 
cult for her to change her habits. Moreover, it now 
happened frequently that Cicely and Ralph found 
that each must be the sole companion of the other ; 

324 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


and in this regard more than in any other was Miriam 
missed. But to say that in this regard more than in any 
other her absence was regretted would be inaccurate. 

Cicely felt that she ought to regret it, but she did 
not. To be so much with Balph was contrary to her 
own plans of action, and to what she believed to be 
her mother’s notions on the subject, but she could 
not help it without being rude to the young man, 
and this she did not intend to be. He was lonely 
and wanted a companion, and, in truth, she was glad 
to fill the position. If he had not talked to her so 
much about Dora Bannister’s great goodness she 
would have been better pleased. But she could 
nearly always turn this sort of conversation upon 
Miriam’s virtues, and on that subject the two were in 
perfect accord. 

Mrs. Drane intended now to get up sooner in the 
morning, but she did not do it $ and she resolved that 
she would not drop asleep in her chair early in the 
evening, as she had felt perfectly free to do when 
Miriam was with them, but she calmly dozed all the 
same. 

There was another obstacle to Mrs. Drane’s good 
intentions, of which she knew nothing. This was the 
craft of La Fleur, who frequently made it a point to 
call upon the good lady for advice or consultation, 
and who was most apt to do this at times when her 
interview with Mrs. Drane would leave Ralph and 
Cicely together. It was wonderful how skilfully this 
accomplished culinary artist planned some of these 
situations. 

Ralph was surprised to find that he could so well 
bear the absence of his sister. He would not have 


325 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


believed it had he been told it in advance. He con- 
sidered it a great piece of luck that Miriam should be 
able to go to the sea-shore, but it was also wonderful 
luck that Miss Drane should happen to be here while 
Miriam was away. Had both gone, he would have 
had a doleful time of it. As it was, his time was not 
at all doleful. All the chickens, hens, cats, calves, 
and flowers that Miriam had had under her especial 
care were now attended to most sedulously by Cicely, 
and in these good works Ealph gave willing and con- 
stant assistance. In fact, he found that he could do a 
great deal more for Cicely than Miriam had been will- 
ing he should do for her. This cooperation was very 
pleasing to him, for Cicely was a girl who knew little 
about things rural, but wanted to know much, and 
Ealph was a young fellow who liked to teach such 
girls as Cicely. 


326 


CHAPTER XXXV 


MISS PANNEY HAS TEETH ENOUGH LEFT 
TO BITE WITH 

After her recent quick pull and strong pull, Miss 
Panney rested placidly on her oars. She knew that 
Miriam had gone, but she had not yet heard whether 
the Dranes had returned to their former lodging in 
Thorbury, or had left the neighborhood altogether. 
She presumed, however, that they were in the town, 
for the young woman’s work for Dr. Tolbridge was 
probably not completed. She intended to call on 
Mrs. Brinkly and find out about this, and she also 
determined to drop in at Cobhurst and see how poor 
Ralph was getting on by himself. But for these things 
there was no hurry. 

But jogging into town one morning, she was amazed 
to meet Ralph and Mrs. Drane returning to Cobhurst 
in the gig. Both vehicles stopped, and Ralph imme- 
diately began to tell the old lady of Miriam’s good 
fortune. He told, also, of his own good fortune in 
having Mrs. Drane and her daughter to run the house 
during Miriam’s absence, and was in high good spirits 
and glad to talk. 

Miss Panney listened with rigid attention; but 
327 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


when Ralph had finished, she asked Mrs. Drane if 
she had left her daughter alone at Cobhurst while she 
and Mr. Haverley came to town. 

“Oh, yes,” answered the other lady, “Cicely is 
there, and hard at work. But she is not alone. You 
know, our good La Fleur is with us, and will remain 
as long as the doctor and Mrs. Tolbridge are away.” 

When Miss Panney received this last bit of infor- 
mation, she gazed intently at Mrs. Drane, and then at 
Ralph, after which she bade them good morning, and 
drove off. 

“The old lady is not in such jolly good humor as 
when she lunched with us the other day,” said Ralph. 

“That is true,” said Mrs. Drane. “But I have 
noticed that very elderly people are apt to be moody.” 

Twice in the course of a year Miss Panney allowed 
herself to swear, if there happened to be occasion for 
it. In hel young days a lady of fashion would some- 
times swear with great effect, and Miss Panney did 
not entirely give up any old fashion that she liked. 
FTow, there being good reason for it, and no one in 
sight, she swore, and directed her objurgations against 
herself. Then her mind, somewhat relieved from the 
strain upon it, took in the humorous points of the 
situation, and she laughed outright. 

“If the Dranes had hired some sharp-witted rogue 
to help them carry out their designs, he could not 
have done it better than I have done it. I have 
simply put the whole game into their hands— I have 
given them everything they want.” 

But before she reached Thorbury she saw that the 
situation was not hopeless. There was one thing that 
might be done, and, that successfully accomplished, 
328 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


the game would be in her hands. Ralph must be 
made to go to Barport. A few days with Dora at the 
seaside, with some astute person there to manage the 
affair, would settle the fate of Mr. Ralph Haverley. 
At this thought her eyes sparkled, and she began to 
feel hungry. At this important moment she did not 
wish to occupy her mind with prattle and chat, and 
therefore departed from her usual custom of lunching 
with a friend or acquaintance. Hitching her roan 
mare in front of a confectionery shop, she entered for 
refreshment. 

Seated at a little table in the back room, with a cup 
of tea and some sandwiches before her, Miss Panney 
took more time over her slight meal than any previous 
customer had ever occupied in disposing of a similar 
repast— at least, so the girl at the counter believed and 
averred to the colored man who did outside errands. 
The girl thought that the old lady’s deliberate method 
of eating proceeded from her want of teeth. But the 
man, who had waited at dinners where Miss Panney 
was a guest, contemptuously repudiated this assump- 
tion. 

“I’ve seen her eat,” said he, “and she’s never be- 
hind nobody. She’s got all the teeth she wants for 
bitin’.” 

“Then why doesn’t she get through?” asked the 
girl. “When is she ever going to leave that table?” 

“When she gits ready,” answered the man. “That’s 
the time Miss Panney does everything.” 

Sipping her tea and nibbling her sandwich, Miss 
Panney considered the situation. It would be, of 
course, a difficult thing to get that young man to visit 
his sister at Barport. It would cost money, and there 
329 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


would seem to be no good reason for his going. Of 
course, no such influence could be brought to bear 
upon him at this end of the line. Whatever induce- 
ment was offered must be offered from Barport. And 
there was no one there who could do it — at least, with 
the proper effect. The girls would be glad to have 
him there, but nothing that either of them could, 
with propriety, be prompted to say, would draw him 
into such extravagant self-gratification. But if she 
were at Barport, she knew that she could send him 
such an invitation, or sound such a call to him, that 
he would be sure to come. 

Accordingly Miss Panney determined to go to Bar- 
port without loss of time ; and, although she did not 
know what sort of summons she should issue to Ralph 
after she got there, she did not in the least doubt that 
circumstances would indicate the right thing to do— 
in fact, she would arrange circumstances in such a 
way that they should so indicate. 

Having arrived at this conclusion, Miss Panney 
finished eating her sandwich with an earnestness and 
rapidity which convinced the astonished girl at the 
counter that she had all the teeth she needed to bite 
with, and then she went forth to convince other 
people of the same thing. On the sidewalk she met 
Phoebe. 

“How d’ye do, Miss Panney?” said that single- 
minded colored woman. “I hain’t seen you for a long 
time.” 

Miss Panney returned the salutation, and stood for 
a moment in thought. 

“Phoebe,” said she, “when did you last see Mike?” 

“Well, now, really, Miss Panney, I can’t say, but 
330 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

it’s been a mighty long time. He don’t come into 
town to see me, and I’s too busy to go ’way out thar. 
I does the minister’s wash now, besides boardin’ him 
and keepin’ his clothes mended. And then, it’s four or 
five miles out to that farm. I can’t ’ford to hire no 
carriage, and Mike ain’t no right to expect me to walk 
that fur.” 

“Phoebe,” said Miss Panney, “you are a lazy woman 
and an undutiful wife. It is not four miles to Cob- 
hurst, and you walk two or three times that distance 
every day, gadding about town. You ought to go 
out there and attend to Mike’s clothes, and see that 
he is comfortable, instead of giving up the little time 
you do work to that minister, and everybody knows 
that the reason you have taken him to board is that 
you want to set yourself up above the rest of the con- 
gregation.” 

“Good laws, Miss Panney!” exclaimed Phoebe, “I 
don’t see as how anybody can think that ! ” 

“Well, I do,” replied the old lady, “and plenty of 
other people besides. But as you won’t go out to 
Cobhurst to attend to your own duty, I want you to 
go there to attend to something for me. I was going 
myself, but I start for the sea-shore to-morrow, and 
have not time. I want to know how that poor Mr. 
Ralph is getting along. Molly Tooney has left, and 
his sister is away, and of course those two Drane 
women are temporary boarders, and take no care of 
him or his clothes. To be sure, there is a woman 
there, but she is that English-French creature who 
gives all her time to fancy dishes, and, I suppose, never 
made a bed or washed a shirt in her life.” 

“That’s so, Miss Panney,” said Phoebe, eagerly, “and 
331 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


I reckon it’s a lot of slops he has to eat now. ’Tain’t 
like the good, wholesome meals I gave him when I 
cooked thar. And as for washing if there’s any of 
that done, I reckon Mike does it.” 

“I should not wonder,” said the old lady. “And, 
Phoebe, I want you to go out there this afternoon, and 
look over Mr. Haverley’s linen, and see what ought 
to be washed or mended, and take general notice of 
how things are going on. I shall see his sister, and I 
want to report the state of affairs at her home. For 
all I know, those Dranes and their cook may pack up 
and clear out to-morrow, if the notion takes them. 
Then you must meet me at the station at nine o’clock 
to-morrow morning, and tell me what you find out. 
If things are going all wrong, Mr. Haverley will never 
write to his sister to disturb her mind. Start for Cob- 
hurst as soon as you can, and I will pay your carriage 
hire— no, I will not do that, for I want you to make 
a good, long stay, and it will cost too much to keep a 
hack waiting. You can walk just as well as not, and 
it will do you good. And while you are there, Phoebe, 
you might take notice of Miss Drane. If she has 
finished the work she was doing for the doctor, and 
is just sitting about idly or strolling around the place, 
it is likely they will soon leave, for if the young 
woman does not work they cannot afford to stay 
there. That is a thing Miss Miriam ought to know 
all about.” 

“Seems to me, Miss Panney,” said the colored 
woman, “that ’twould be a mighty good thing for Mr. 
Haverley to get married. And thar’s that Miss Drane 
right thar already.” 

“What stupid nonsense ! ” exclaimed Miss Panney. 

332 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“I thought you had more sense than to imagine such 
a thing as that. She is not in any way suitable for 
him. She is a poor little thing who has to earn her 
own living, and her mother’s, too. She is not in the 
least fit to be the mistress of that place.” 

“Don’t see whar he’ll get a wife, then,” said Phoebe. 
“He never goes nowhar, and never sees nobody, ex- 
cept p’r’aps Miss Dora Bannister, and she’s too high 
and mighty for him.” 

“Phoebe, you are stupider than I thought you were. 
Ho lady is too high and mighty for Mr. Haverley, 
and if he should happen to fancy Miss Dora, it will 
be a capital match. What he needs is to marry a 
woman of position and means. But that is not my 
business, or yours either. And by the way, Phoebe, 
since you are here, I will get you to take a letter to 
the post-office for me. I will go back into this shop 
and write it. You can take these two cents and buy 
an envelope and a sheet of paper, and bring them in 
to me.” 

With this Miss Panney walked into the shop, and 
having asked the loan of pen and ink, horrified the 
girl at the counter by proceeding to the table she had 
left, which, in a corner favored by all customers, had 
just been prepared for the next comer, and, having 
pushed aside a knife and fork and plate, made herself 
ready to write her letter, which was to a friend in 
Barport, informing her that the writer intended mak- 
ing her a visit. 

“I shall get there,” she thought, “about as soon as 
it does, but it looks better to write.” 

Before the letter was finished, Phoebe was nearly as 
angry as the shop-girl ; but at last, with exactly two 
333 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


cents with which to buy a stamp, she departed for the 
post-office. 

“The stingy old thing ! ” she said to herself, as she 
left the shop. “Not a cent for myself, and makes me 
walk all the way out to that Cobhurst, too ! I see 
what that old woman is up to. She’s afraid he’ll 
marry the young lady what’s out thar, and she wants 
him to marry Miss Dora, and git a lot of the Bannister 
money to fix up his old house, and then she expects to 
go out thar and board with ’em, for I reckon she’s 
gittin’ mighty tired of the way them Wittons live. 
She’s always patchin’ up marriages so she can go and 
live with the people when they first begins house- 
keepin’ and things is bran’ -new and fresh. She did 
that with young Mr. Witton, but their furniture is 
gittin’ pretty old and worn out now. If she tries it 
with Mr. Haverley and Dora Bannister, I reckon she’ll 
make as big a botch of it as she did with Mike and 
me.” 


334 


CHAPTER XXXYI 


A CRY FROM THE SEA 

Miss Panney left Thorbury the next morning, but 
she had to go without seeing Phoebe, who did not ap- 
pear at the station. She arrived at Barport in the 
afternoon, and went directly to the house of the friend 
to whom she had written, and who it is to be hoped 
was glad to see her. She deferred making her pres- 
ence known to the Bannister party until the next 
morning. When she called at their hotel, about ten 
o’clock, she was informed that they had all gone down 
to the beach ; and as they could not be expected to 
return very soon, Miss Panney betook herself to the 
ocean’s edge to look for them. 

She found a wide stretch of sand crowded with 
bathers and spectators. It had been a long time since 
she had visited the sea-shore, and she discovered that 
seaside customs and costumes had changed very much. 
She was surprised, amused, and at times indignant ; 
but as she had come to look for the Bannisters, she 
confined herself to that business, postponing reflections 
and judgments. 

Her search proved to be a difficult one. She walked 
up and down the beach until she assured herself that 
335 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


the Bannisters and Miriam were not among those 
who had come as lookers-on, or merely to breathe the 
salt air and enjoy the ocean view. When she came 
to scrutinize the bathers, whether they were disport- 
ing themselves in the sea or standing or lying about 
on the sand, she found it would be almost impossible 
to recognize anybody in that motley crowd. 

“I can scarcely make out, 7 ’ she said to herself, 
“ whether they are men or women, much less whether 
I know them or not. But if the Bannisters and 
Miriam are among those water-monkeys, I shall know 
them when I see their faces, and then I shall take the 
first chance I get to tell them what I think of them.” 

It was not long before Miss Panney began to grow 
tired. She was not used to trudging through soft 
sand, and she had walked a good deal before she 
reached the beach. ' She concluded, therefore, to look 
for a place where she might sit down and rest, and if 
her friends did not show themselves in a reasonable 
time she would go back to their hotel and wait for 
them there. But she saw no chairs nor benches, and 
as for imitating the hundreds of well-dressed people 
who were sitting down in the dirt,— for to Miss 
Panney sand was as much dirt as any other pulver- 
ized portion of the earth’s surface,— she had never 
done such a thing, and she did not intend to. 

A pproaching a boat which was drawn up high and 
dry, she seated herself upon, or rather leaned against, 
its side. The bathing-master, a burly fellow in a 
bathing costume, turned to her and informed her 
courteously but decidedly that she must not sit upon 
that boat. 

“I do not see why,” said Miss Panney, sharply, as 
336 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


she rose. “For it is not of any use in any other way, 
lying up here on the sand.” 

She had scarcely finished speaking when the bath- 
ing-master sprang to his feet so suddenly that it made 
Miss Panney jump. For a moment the man stood 
listening, and then ran rapidly down the beach. 
Now Miss Panney heard, coming from the sea, a cry 
of “Help! Help!” 

Other people heard it, too, and began hurrying after 
the bathing- master. The cry, which was repeated 
again and again, came from a group of bathers who 
were swimming far from shore, opposite a point on 
the beach a hundred yards or more from where Miss 
Panney was standing. The spectators now became 
greatly excited, and crowds of them began to run 
along the beach, while many people came out of the 
sea and joined the hurrying throng. 

Still the cries came from the ocean, but they were 
feebler. Those experienced in such matters saw what 
had happened. A party of four bathers, swimming 
out beyond the breakers, had been caught in what is 
called a “sea-puss,” an eccentric current too powerful 
for them to overcome, and they were unable to reach 
the shore. 

As he ran, the bathing-master shouted to some men 
to bring him the life-line, and this, which was coiled 
in a box near the boat, was soon seized by two swift 
runners and carried out to the man. 

“Fool !” exclaimed Miss Panney, who, with flushed 
face, was hurrying after the rest. “Why didn’t he take 
it with him ! ” 

When the bathing-master reached a point opposite 
the imperilled swimmers, he was obliged to wait a 
337 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


little for the life-line, but as soon as it reached him 
he tied one end of it around his waist and plunged 
into the surf. The men who had brought the line did 
not uncoil it, nor even take it out of the box, and very 
soon it was seen that the bathing-master was not only 
making his way bravely through the breakers, but 
was towing after him the coil of rope, and the box in 
which it had been entangled. As soon as he perceived 
this, the man stopped for an instant, jerked the line 
from his waist, and swam away without it. 

Meanwhile a party of men had seized the life-boat, 
and had pushed it over the sand to the water’s edge, 
where they launched it, and with much difficulty 
kept it from grounding until four young men, all 
bathers, jumped in and manned the oars. But before 
the excited oarsmen had begun to pull together, an 
incoming wave caught the bow of the boat, turned it 
broadside to the sea, and rolled it over. A dozen 
men, however, seized the boat and quickly righted 
her. Again the oarsmen sprang in, and having been 
pushed out until the water reached the necks of the 
men who ran beside her, she was vigorously pulled 
beyond the breakers. 

The excitement was now intense, not only on the 
beach, but in the hotels near the spot, and the shore 
was black with people. The cries had entirely ceased, 
but now the bathing-master was seen making his way 
toward the shore, and supporting a helpless form. Be- 
fore he could touch bottom, however, he was relieved 
of his burden by some of the men who were swim- 
ming out after him, and he turned back toward a 
floating head which could just be seen above the 
water. He was a powerful swimmer, but without a 
338 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

line by which he and any one he might rescue could 
be pulled ashore, his task was laborious and dangerous. 

The boat had now pulled to the bather who, though 
farthest out to sea, was the best swimmer, and he, 
just as his strength was giving way, was hauled on 
board. The life-line had been rescued and disen- 
tangled, and the shore end of it having been taken 
into proper charge, a man, with the other end about 
him, swam to the assistance of the bathing- master. 
Between these two another lifeless, helpless body was 
borne in. 

As might have been supposed, Miss Panney was 
now in a state of intense agitation. Not only did she 
share in the general excitement, but she was filled 
with a horrible dread. In ordinary cases of sickness 
and danger, it had been her custom to offer her ser- 
vices without hesitation, but then she knew who were 
in trouble and what she must do. Now there was a 
sickening mystery hanging over what was happening. 
She was actually afraid to go near the two lifeless 
figures stretched upon the sand, each surrounded by 
a crowd of people eager to do something or see some- 
thing. 

But her anxious questioning of the people who 
were scattered about relieved her, for she found that 
the two unfortunate persons who had been brought in 
were men. Nobody knew whether they were alive 
or not, but everything possible was being done to 
revive them. Several doctors had made their ap- 
pearance, and messengers were running to the hotels 
for brandy, blankets, and other things needed. In 
obedience to an excited entreaty from a physician, 
one of the groups surged outward and scattered a 
339 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


little, and Miss Panney saw the form of a strongly 
built man lying on his back on the sand, with men 
kneeling around him, some working his arms back- 
ward and forward to induce respiration, and others 
rubbing him vigorously. It was difficult for her to 
restrain herself from giving help or advice, for she 
was familiar with, and took a great interest in, all 
sorts of physical distress ; but now she turned away 
and hurried toward the sea. 

She had heard the people say there was another 
one out there, and her sickening feeling returned. 
She walked but a little way, and then she stopped 
and eagerly watched what was going on. The bath- 
ing-master had been nearly exhausted when he 
reached the shore the second time, but he had rallied 
his strength and had swum out to the boat which was 
pulling about the place where the unfortunate bathers 
had been swimming. Suddenly the oarsmen gave a 
quick pull — they had seen something. A man jumped 
overboard ; there was bustling on the boat ; something 
was pulled in. Then the boat was rapidly rowed 
shoreward, the man in the water holding to the stern 
until his feet touched ground. 

The people crowded to the water’s edge so that 
Miss Panney could scarcely see the boat when it 
reached shore, but presently the crowd parted, and 
three men appeared, carrying what seemed to be a 
very light burden. 

“Oh, dear ! ” said a woman standing by, “that one 
was in the water a long time. I wonder if it is a girl 
or a boy.” 

Miss Panney said nothing, but made a few quick 
steps in the direction of the limp figure which the 
340 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

crowd was following up the beach, then she stopped. 
Her nature prompted her to go on, her present feel- 
ings restrained her. She could not help wondering 
at this, and said to herself that she must be aging 
faster than she thought. Her distant vision was ex- 
cellent, and she knew that the inanimate form which 
was now being laid on the dry sand was not a boy. 

She turned and looked out over the sea, but she 
could not stand still. She must do something. On 
occasions like this it was absolutely necessary for Miss 
Panney to do something. She walked up the beach, 
but not toward the ring of people that had now 
formed around the fourth unfortunate. She must 
quiet herself a little first. 

Suddenly the old lady raised her hands and clasped 
them. It was a usual gesture when she thought of 
something she ought to do. 

“If it is one of them,” she said to herself, “he ought 
to know it instantly ! And even if it isn’t, he ought 
to know. They will be in a terrible state. Somebody 
should be here, and Herbert has gone to the moun- 
tains. There is no one else.” She now began to 
walk more rapidly. “Yes,” she said, speaking aloud 
in the intensity of her emotion, “he ought to come, 
anyway. I can’t be left here to take any chances. 
And if he does not know immediately, he cannot get 
here to-day.” 

She now directed her steps toward one of the 
hotels, where she knew there was a telegraph office. 

“No matter what has happened, or what has not 
happened,” she said to herself, as she hurried along, 
“he ought to be here, and he must come ! ” 

The old lady’s hand trembled a good deal as she 
341 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


wrote a telegram to Ralph Haverley, but the operator 
at the window could read it. It ran : 

“A dreadful disaster here. Come on immediately. 

When she had finished this business, Miss Panney 
stood for a few moments on the broad piazza of the 
hotel, which was deserted, for almost everybody was 
on the beach. In spite of her agitation a grim smile 
came over her face. 

“Perhaps that was a little strong,” she thought, 
“but it has gone now. And no matter how he finds 
things, I can prove to him he is needed. I do not be- 
lieve he will be too much frightened,— men never are, 
— and I will see to it that he has a blessed change in 
his feelings when he gets here.” 

Miss Panney was now allowing to enter her mind 
the conviction, previously denied admittance, that 
no one of her three friends would be likely to be 
swimming far from shore with a party of men. And 
having thus restored herself to something of her usual 
composure, she went down to the beach to find out 
who had been drowned. On the way she met Mrs. 
Bannister and the two girls, and from them she got 
her information that two of the persons were believed 
to be beyond any power of resuscitation, and one of 
these was a young lady from Boston. 


342 


CHAPTER XXXYII 


LA FLEUR ASSUMES RESPONSIBILITIES 

It was toward the middle of the afternoon that the 
good La Fleur sat upon a bench under a tree by the 
side of the noble mansion of Cobhurst. She was 
enjoying the scene and allowing her mind to revel in 
the future she had planned for herself. She was not 
even thinking of the dinner. Presently there drove 
into the grounds a boy in a bowl-shaped trotting- 
wagon, bringing a telegram for Mr. Haverley. La 
Fleur went to meet him. 

“He is not at home,” she said. 

“Well,” said the boy, “there is seventy-five cents 
to pay, and perhaps there is an answer.” 

“Are you sure the message was not prepaid?” 
asked La Fleur, suspiciously. 

“Oh, the seventy -five cents is for delivery,” said the 
boy. “We deliver free in town, but we can’t come 
’way out here in the country for nothing. Isn’t there 
somebody here who can ’tend to it ? ” 

La Fleur drew a wallet from her pocket. “I will 
pay you,” she said. “But if there is an answer you 
should take it back with you. Can’t you wait a bit ? ” 
“Ho,” said the boy, “I can’t. I shall be away from 
the office too long as it is.” 

343 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


La Fleur was in a quandary. There was no one at 
home but herself. A telegram is always important. 
Very likely an immediate answer was required, and 
here was an opportunity to send one. If the message 
were from his sister, there might be something which 
she could answer. At any rate, it was an affair that 
must not be neglected, and Mr. Haverley had gone 
off with his fishing-rod, and no one knew when he 
would get back. 

“Wait one minute,” she said to the boy, and she 
hurried into the kitchen with the telegram. She put 
on her spectacles and looked at it. The envelope was 
very slightly fastened. No doubt this was something 
that needed attention, and the boy would not wait. 
Telegrams were not like private letters, anyway, and 
she would take the risk. So she opened the envelope 
without tearing it, and read the message. First she 
was frightened, and then she was puzzled. 

“Well, I can’t answer that,” she said, “and I sup- 
pose he will go as soon as he gets it.” 

She laid the telegram on the kitchen table, and 
went out to the impatient boy, and told him there 
was no answer, whereupon he departed at the top 
of his pony’s speed. 

La Fleur returned to the kitchen and re-read the 
telegram. The signature was not very legible, and in 
her first hasty reading she had not made it out, but 
now she deciphered it. 

“Panney ! ” she exclaimed, “R. Panney ! I believe 
it is from that tricky old woman ! ” Then with her 
elbows on the table she gave herself up to the study 
of the telegram. “I never saw anything like it,” she 
thought. “It looks exactly as if she wanted to 
344 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

frighten him without telling him what has happened. 
It could not he worse than it is, even if his sister is 
dead, and if that were so, anybody would telegraph 
that she was very ill, so as not to let it come on him 
too sudden. Nothing can be more dreadful than 
what he’ll think when he reads this. One thing is 
certain : she meant him to go when he got it. Yes, 
indeed ! ” A smile came upon her face as she 
thought. “She wants him there ; that is as plain as 
daylight.” 

At this moment a step was heard outside, and the 
telegram was slipped into the table drawer. La 
Fleur arose and approached the open door $ there she 
saw Phoebe. 

“How d’ye do, ma’am?” said that individual. “Do 
let me come in and sit down, for I’m nearly tired to 
death, and so cross that I’d like to fight a cat.” 

“What has happened to you?” asked La Fleur, 
when she and her visitor had seated themselves. 

“Nothin’,” replied Phoebe, “except that I’ve been 
sent on a fool’s errand, and made to walk all the way 
from Thorbury here, and a longer and a dirtier and a 
rockier road I never went over. I thought two or 
three times that I should jes drop. If I’d knowed 
how stiff my j’ints would be, I wouldn’t ’a’ come, no 
matter what she said.” 

“ 1 She said ’ ? ” repeated La Fleur. “Who ? ” 

“That old Miss Panney ! ” said Phoebe, with a snap. 
“She sent me out here to look after Mike, and was too 
stingy even to pay my hack fare. She wanted me to 
come day before yesterday, but I couldn’t get away 
till to-day.” 

“Where is Miss Panney?” asked La Fleur, quickly. 

345 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“She’s gone to the sea-shore, where the Bannisters 
and Miss Miriam is. She said she’d come here herself 
if it hadn’t been for goin’ thar.” 

“To look after Mike?” asked the other. 

“Not ’zactly,” said Phoebe, with a grin. “There’s 
other things here she wanted to look after.” 

“Upon my word!” exclaimed La Fleur, “I can’t 
imagine what there is on this place that Miss Panney 
need concern herself about.” 

“There isn’t no place,” said Phoebe, “where there 
isn’t somethin’ that Miss Panney wants to consarn 
herself in.” 

La Fleur looked at Phoebe, and then dropped the 
subject. 

“Don’t you want a cup of tea?” she asked, a glow 
of hospitality suddenly appearing on her face. “That 
will set you up sooner than anything else, and per- 
haps I can find a piece of one of those meat-pies your 
husband likes so much.” 

Phoebe was not accustomed to being waited upon 
by white people, and to have a repast prepared for 
her by this cook of high degree flattered her vanity 
and wonderfully pleased her. Her soul warmed to- 
ward the good woman who was warming and cheer- 
ing her body. 

“I say it again,” remarked La Fleur, “that I cannot 
think what that old lady should want to look after in 
this house.” 

“Now look here, madam,” said Phoebe, “it’s jes 
nothin’ at all. It’s jes the most nonsensical thing 
that ever was. I don’t mind tellin’ you about it— 
don’t mind it a bit. She wants Mr. Haverley to marry 
Miss Dora Bannister, and she’s on pins and needles to 
346 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

know if the young woman here is likely to ketch him. 
That s all there is ’bout it. She don’t care two snaps 
for Mike, and I reckon he don’t want no lookin’ after, 
anyway.” 

“No, indeed,” answered the other. “I take the best 
of care of him. Miss Panney must be dreadful afraid 
of our young lady, eh f ” 

“That’s jes what she is,” said Phoebe. “I wonder 
she didn’t take Mr. Haverley along with her when she 
went to the sea-shore.” 

La Fleur’s eyes sparkled. 

“Now, come, Phoebe,” said she, “what on earth did 
she want you to do here 1 ” 

Phoebe took a long draught of tea, and put down 
the cup with a sigh of content. 

“Oh, nothin’,” said she. “She jes wanted me to 
spy round and see if Mr. Haverley and Miss Drane was 
failin’ in love with each other, and then I was to go 
and tell her about it the mornin’ before she started. 
Now I’ll have to keep it till she comes back, but I 
reckon thar ain’t nothin’ to tell about.” 

La Fleur laughed. “Nothing at all,” said she. 
“You might stay here a week and you wouldn’t see 
any love-making between those two. They don’t as 
much as think of such a thing. So you need not put 
yourself to any trouble about that part of Miss Pan- 
ney’s errand. Here comes your good Michael, and I 
think you will find that he is doing very well.” 

About ten minutes after this, when Phoebe and 
Mike had gone off to talk over their more than semi- 
detached domestic affairs, La Fleur took the telegram 
from the drawer and replaced it in its envelope, which 
she closed and fastened so neatly that no one would 
347 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


have supposed that it had been opened. Then she 
took from a shelf a railroad time-table, which lay in 
company with her cook-book and a few other well- 
worn volumes ; for the good cook cared for reading 
very much as she cared for her own mayonnaise 
dressing : she wanted but little at a time, but she liked 
it. 

“The last train to the city seems to be seven- ten, 1 ” 
she said to herself. “No other train after that stops 
at Thorbury. If he had been at home he would have 
taken an early afternoon train, which was what she 
expected, I suppose. It will be a great pity for him 
to have to go to-night, and for no other reason than 
for that old trickster’s telegram. If anything has 
really happened, he’ll get news of it in some sensible 
shape.” 

At all events, there was nothing now to be done 
with the telegram, so she put it on the shelf, and set 
about her preparations for dinner, which had been 
very much delayed. 

Ralph had gone off fishing. But, before starting, 
he had put Mrs. Browning to the gig, and had told 
Cicely that as soon as her work was finished, she must 
take her mother for a drive. The girl had been 
delighted, and the two had driven away for a long 
jog through the country lanes. 

It was late in the afternoon when Balph came strid- 
ing homeward across the fields. He was still a mile 
from Cobhurst, and on a bit of rising ground, when, 
on the road below him, he saw Mrs. Browning and 
the gig, and, to his surprise, the good old mare was 
demurely trotting away from Cobhurst. 

“Can it be possible,” he exclaimed, “that they have 
348 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


just started ! ” And lie hurried down toward the 
road. He now saw that there was only one person in 
the gig, and very soon he was near enough to perceive 
that this was Cicely. 

“I expect you are wondering what I am doing here 
by myself, and where I am going,” she said, when she 
stopped and he stood by the gig. “I shall tell you 
the exact truth, because I know you will not mind. 
We started out a long time ago, but mother had a 
headache, and the motion of the gig made it worse. 
She was trying to bear it so that I might have a drive, 
but I insisted upon turning back. I took her as far 
as the orchard, where I left her, and since then I have 
been driving about by myself and having an awfully 
good time. Mother did not mind that, as I promised 
not to go far away. But I think I have now gone far 
enough along this road. I like driving ever so much ! 
Don’t you want me to drive you home ? ” 

“Indeed I do ! ” said Ralph, and in he jumped. 

“I expect Miriam must be enjoying this lovely 
evening,” she said. “And she will see the sun set 
from the beach, for Barport faces westward. I never 
saw a girl enjoy sunsets as she does. At this moment 
I expect her face is as bright as the sky.” 

“And wouldn’t you like to be standing by her?” 
asked Ralph. 

Cicely shook her head. “No,” she said. “To 
speak truly, I should rather be here. We used to go 
a good deal to the sea-shore, but this is the first time 
that I ever really lived in the country, and it is so 
charming I would not lose a day of it — and there can- 
not be very many more days of it, anyway.” 

“Why not? ” asked Ralph. 

349 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“I am now copying chapter twenty -seventh of the 
doctor’s book, and there are only thirty- one in all. 
And as to his other work, that will not occupy me 
very long.” 

Ralph was about to ask a question, but, instead, he 
involuntarily grasped one of the little gloved hands 
that held the reins. 

“Pull that,” he said quickly. “You must always 
turn to the right when you meet a vehicle.” 

Cicely obeyed, but when they had passed a wagon, 
drawn by a team of oxen, she said, “But there was 
more room on the other side.” 

“That may be,” replied Ralph, with a laugh, “but 
when you are driving, you must not rely too much on 
your reason, but must follow rules and tradition.” 

“If I knew as much about driving as I like it,” said 
she, “I should be a famous whip. Before we go, I am 
going to ask Miriam to take me out with her two or 
three times, and give me lessons in driving. She told 
me that you had taught her a great deal.” 

“So you would be willing to take your tuition sec- 
ond-hand,” said Ealph. “I am a much better teacher 
than Miriam is.” 

“Would you like to make up a class?” she asked. 
“But I do not know how the teacher and the two 
pupils could ride in this gig. Oh, I see ! Miriam and 
I could sit here, and you could walk by our side and 
instruct us, and when the one who happened to be 
driving should make a mistake, she would give up her 
seat and the reins, and go to the foot of her class.” 

“Class, indeed ! ” exclaimed Ralph. “I’ll have none 
of it. I will take you out to morrow and give you a 
lesson.” 


350 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


So they went gayly on till they came to a grassy 
hill which shut out the western view. 

“Do you think I could go through that gate/’ asked 
Cicely, “and drive Mrs. Browning up that hill? 
There is going to be a grand sunset, and we should 
get a fine view of it up there.” 

“No,” said Ralph, “let us get out and walk up, 
and as Mrs. Browning can see the barn, we will not 
worry her soul by tying her to the fence. I shall let 
her go home by herself, and you will see how beauti- 
fully she will do it.” 

So they got out, and Ralph, having fastened the 
reins to the dash-board, clicked to the old mare, who 
walked away by herself. Cicely was greatly inter- 
ested, and the two stood and watched the sober- 
minded animal as she made her way home as quietly 
and properly as if she had been driven. When she 
entered the gate of the barn-yard, and stopped at the 
stable door, Ralph remarked that she would stand 
there until Mike came out, and then the two went 
into the field and walked up the hill. 

“I once had a scolding from Miriam for doing that 
sort of thing,” said Ralph, “but you do not seem to 
object.” 

“I do not know enough yet,” cried Cicely, who had 
begun to run up the hill. “Wait until I have had my 
lessons.” 

They stood together at the top of the little emi- 
nence. 

“I wonder,” said Cicely, “if Miriam ever comes 
up on this hill at sunset. Perhaps she has never 
thought of it.” 

Ralph did not know. But the mention of Miriam’s 
351 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


name caused him to think how little he had missed 
his sister, who had seemed to live in his life as he had 
lived in hers. It was strange, and he had not be- 
lieved that he could so easily adapt himself to the 
changed circumstances of his home life. There was 
another thing of which he did not think, and that 
was that he had not missed Dora Bannister. It is true 
that he had never seen much of that young lady, but 
he had thought so much about her, and made so many 
plans in regard to her, and had so often hoped that 
he might see her drive up to the Cobhurst door, and 
had had such charming recollections of the hours she 
had spent in his home, and of the travels they had 
taken together by photograph, her blue eyes lifted to 
his as if in truth she leaned upon his arm as they 
walked through palace and park, that it was wonder- 
ful that he did not notice that for days his thoughts 
had not dwelt upon her. 

When the gorgeous color began to fade out of the 
sky, Cicely said her mother would be wondering what 
had become of her, and together they went down the 
hill and along the roadside, where they stopped to 
pick some tall sprays of goldenrod, and through the 
orchard, and around by the barn-yard, where Mike 
was milking, and where Balph stopped while Cicely 
went on to the house. 

Phoebe was standing down by the entrance-gate. 
She was waiting for an ox-cart whose driver had 
promised to take her with him on his return to Thor- 
bury. She had arranged with a neighbor to prepare 
the minister’s supper, but she must be on hand to give 
him his breakfast. As there was nothing to interest 
her at Cobhurst, and nothing to report, she was glad 
352 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


to go, and considered this ox-cart a godsend, for her 
plan of getting Mike to drive her over in the spring- 
cart had not been met with favor. 

Waiting at the gateway, she had seen Ralph and 
Cicely walk up the hill, and watched them standing 
together, ever and ever so long, looking at the sky, 
and she had kept her eyes on them as they came down 
the hill, stopped to pick flowers which he gave to her, 
and until they had disappeared among the trees of the 
orchard. 

“Upon my word and honor ! ” ejaculated Mrs. Rob- 
inson, “if that old French slop-cook hasn’t lied to me 
wuss than Satan could do hisself ! If them two ain’t 
lovers, there never was none, and that old heathen 
sinner thought she could clap a coffee-bag over my 
head so that I couldn’t see nothin’ nor tell nothin’. 
She might as well ’a’ slapped me in the face, the sar- 
pent ! ” 

And unable, by reason of her indignation, to stand 
still any longer, she walked up the road to meet the 
returning ox-cart, whose wheels could be heard rum- 
bling in the distance. 

La Fleur had seen the couple standing together on 
the little hill, but she had thought it a pity to disturb 
their tete-a-tete. 


353 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 

CICELY READS BY MOONLIGHT 

Just before Cicely reached the back piazza, La Fleur 
came out of the kitchen door with the telegram in her 
hand. 

“Do you know,” she said, “if Mr. Haverley has 
come home, and where I can find him? Here is a 
message for him, and I have been looking for him 
high and low.” 

“A telegram ! ” exclaimed Cicely. “He is at the 
barn. I will take it to him. I can get there sooner 
than you can, La Fleur.” And without further word, 
she took the yellow missive and ran with it toward 
the barn. She met Ralph half-way, and stood by him 
while he read the message. 

“I hope,” she cried, as she looked into his pale face, 
“that nothing has happened to Miriam ! ” 

“Read that,” he said, his voice trembling. “Do 
you suppose—” But he could not utter the words 
that were in his mind. 

Cicely seized the telegram and eagerly read it. 
She was on the point of screaming, but checked her- 
self. 

“How terrible ! ” she exclaimed. “But what can it 
354 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


mean ? It is from Miss Panney. Oh ! I think it is 
wicked to send a message like that, which does not 
tell yon what has happened .’ 7 

“It must be Miriam,” cried Ralph. “I must go 
instantly.” And at the top of his voice he shouted 
for Mike. The man soon appeared, running. 

“Mike ! ” exclaimed Ralph, “there has been an ac- 
cident-something has happened to Miss Miriam. I 
must go instantly to Barport. I must take the next 
train from Thorbury. Put the horse to the gig as 
quickly as you can. You must go with me.” 

With a face expressing the deepest concern, Mike 
stood looking at the young man. 

“Don’t stop for a minute,” cried Ralph, in great 
excitement. “Drop everything. Take the horse, no 
matter what he has been doing ; he can go faster than 
the mare. I shall be ready in five minutes ! ” 

“Mr. Haverley,” said Mike, “there ain’t no down 
train stops at Thorbury after the seven-ten, and it’s 
past seven now. That train’ll be gone before I can 
git hitched up.” 

“No train to-night ! ” Ralph almost yelled. “That 
cannot be. I do not believe it.” 

“Now look here, Mr. Haverley,” said Mike, “I 
wouldn’t tell you nothin’ that wasn’t so, specially at 
a time like this. But I’ve been driving to Thorbury 
trains, and from ’em, for years and years. There’s a 
late train ’bout ten o’clock, but it’s a through express 
and don’t stop.” 

“I must take that train,” cried Ralph. “What is 
the nearest station where it does stop ? ” 

“There ain’t none nearer than the Junction, and 
that’s sixteen miles up, and a dreadful road. I once 
355 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


druv there in the daytime, and it tuk me four hours, 
and if you went to-night you couldn’t get there afore 
daylight.” 

“Why don’t you go to Thorbury and telegraph?” 
asked Cicely, who was now almost as pale as Ralph. 
“Then you could find out exactly what has hap- 
pened.” 

“Oh, I must go, I must go !” said Ralph. “But I 
shall telegraph. I shall go to Thorbury instantly, 
and get on as soon as I can.” 

Mike stood looking on the ground. 

“Mr. Haverley,” he said, as the young man was about 
to hurry to the house, “tain’t no use — the telegraph 
office is shet up right after that down train passes.” 

“It is barbarous!” exclaimed Ralph. “I will go 
anyway. I will find the operator.” 

“Mr. Haverley,” said Mike, “don’t you go and do 
that. You is tremblin’ like a asp. You’ll be struck 
down sick if you go on so. There’s a train a quarter 
of six in the mornin’, and I’ll git you over to that. If 
you goes to Thorbury, you won’t be fit to travel in 
the mornin’, and you won’t be no good when you gits 
there.” 

Tears were now on Cicely’s cheeks, in spite of her 
efforts to restrain herself. 

“He is right, Mr. Ralph,” she said. “I think it 
will be dreadful for you to be in Thorbury all night, 
and most likely for no good. It will be a great deal 
better to leave here early in the morning and go 
straight to Barport. But let us go into the house and 
talk to mother. After all, it may not be Miriam. 
You cannot tell what it is. It is a cruel message.” 

356 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

Mrs. Drane was greatly shocked, but she agreed 
with her daughter that it would not be wise for Ralph 
to go to Thorbury until he could start for Barport. 
La Fleur was somewhat frightened when she found 
that her wilful delay of the telegram might occasion 
Mr. Haverley a harassing and anxious night in Thor- 
bury, and was urgent in her endeavors to quiet him 
and persuade him to remain at home until morning. 
But it was not until Cicely had put in her last plea 
that the young man consented to give up his inten- 
tion of going in search of the telegraph operator. 

“Mr. Ralph,” said she, “don’t you think it would be 
awful if you were to send a message and get a bad 
answer to it, and have to stay there by yourself until 
the morning? I cannot bear to think of it. And 
telegraphic messages are always so hard and cruel. 
If I were you, I would rather go straight on and find 
out everything for myself.” 

Ralph looked down at her and at the tears upon 
her cheeks. 

“I will do that,” he said, and taking her hand, he 
pressed it thankfully. 

Every preparation and arrangement was made for 
an early start, and Ralph wandered in and out of the 
house, impatient as a wild beast to break away and be 
gone. Cicely, whose soul was full of his sorrow, went 
out to him on the piazza, where he stood looking at 
the late moon rising above the tree-tops. 

“What a different man I should be,” he said, “if I 
could think that Miriam was standing on the sea-shore 
and looking at that moon.” 

Cicely longed to comfort him, but she could not say 
357 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


anything which would seem to have reason in it. 
She had tried to think that it might be possible that 
the despatch might not concern Miriam, but she could 
not do it. If it had been necessary to send a despatch, 
and Miriam had been alive and well, it would have 
been from her that the despatch would have come. 
Cicely’s soul was sick with sorrow and with dread, not 
only for the brother, but for herself, for she and Miriam 
were now fast friends. But she controlled herself, and 
looking up with a smile, said, “What time is it?” 

Ralph took out his watch and held the face of it 
toward the moon, which was but little past the full. 

“It is a quarter to nine,” he said. 

“Well, then,” said she, “I will ask Miriam, when 
I see her, if she was looking at the moon at this 
time.” 

“Do you believe,” exclaimed Ralph, turning sud- 
denly, so that they stood face to face, “do you truly 
believe that we shall ever see her again ? ” 

The question was so abrupt that Cicely was taken 
unawares. She raised her face toward the eager eyes 
bent upon her, but the courageous words she wished 
to utter would not come, and she drooped her head. 
With a swift movement, Ralph put his two hands upon 
her cheeks and gently raised her face. He need not 
have looked at her, for the warm tears ran down upon 
his hands. 

“You do not,” he said. And as he gazed down 
upon her, her face became dim : for the first time 
since his boyhood, tears filled his eyes. 

At a quick sound of hoofs and wheels, both started, 
and the next moment the telegraph boy drove up 
close to the railing and held up a yellow envelope. 

358 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

“One dollar for delivery/’ said he ; “that’s night 
rates. This come jest as the office was shetting up, 
and Mr. Martin said I’d got to deliver it to-night ; 
but I couldn’t come till the moon was up.” 

Cicely, who was nearer, seized the telegram before 
Ealph could get it. 

“ Drive round to the back of the house,” she said to 
the boy, “and I will bring you the money.” 

She held the telegram, though Ealph had seized it. 

u Don’t be too quick,” she said, “ don’t be too quick. 
There, you will tear it in half. Let me open it for 
you.” 

She deftly drew the envelope from his hand, and 
spread the telegram on the broad rail of the piazza, on 
which the moon shone full. Instantly their heads 
were close together. 

“I cannot read it,” groaned Ealph. “My eyes 
are — ” 

“I can,” interrupted Cicely. And she read aloud 
the message, which ran thus : 

“Fear news of accident may trouble you. We are all 
well. Have written. Miriam Ha verley.” 

Ealph started back and stood upright, as if some 
one had shouted to him from the sky. He said not 
one word, but Cicely gave a cry of joy. Ealph 
turned toward her, and as he saw her face, irradiated 
by the moonlight and her sudden happiness, he looked 
down upon her for one moment, and then his arms 
were outstretched toward her. But, quick as was his 
motion, her thought was quicker, and before he could 
touch her, she had darted back with the telegram in 
her hand. 


359 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“I will show this to mother,” she cried, and was in 
the house in an instant. 

La Fleur was in the hall, where for some time she 
had been quietly standing, looking out upon the 
moonlight. From her position, which was not a con- 
spicuous one, at the door of the inclosed stairway, 
she had been able to keep her eyes upon Ralph and 
Cicely, and held herself ready, should she hear Mrs. 
Drane coming down the stairs, to go up and engage 
her in a consultation in regard to domestic arrange- 
ments. She had known of the arrival of the telegraph 
boy, had seen what followed, and now listened with 
rapt delight to Cicely’s almost breathless announce- 
ment of the joyful news. 

After the girl went up -stairs, La Fleur walked away. 
There was no need for her to stand guard any longer. 

“It isn’t only the telegram,” she said to herself, 
“that makes her face shine and her voice quiver like 
that.” Then she went out to congratulate Mr. Hav- 
erley on the news from his sister. But the young man 
was not there. His soul was too full for the restraints 
of a house or a roof, and he had gone out, bareheaded, 
into the moonlight, to be alone with his happiness and 
to try to understand it. 

When Mrs. Drane returned to her room, having 
gone down, at her daughter’s request, to pay the tele- 
graph messenger, she found her daughter lying on a 
couch, her face wet with tears. But in ten minutes 
Cicely was sitting up and chattering gayly. The good 
lady was rejoiced to know that there was no founda- 
tion for the evils they had feared, but she could not 
understand why her daughter, usually a cool-headed 
little thing and used to self-control, should be so 
360 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


affected by the news ; and in the morning she was 
positively frightened when Cicely informed her that 
she had not slept a wink all night. 

Mrs. Drane had not seen Ralph’s face when he 
stretched out his arms toward her daughter. 


361 


CHAPTER XXXIX 

UNDISTURBED LETTUCE 

When Ralph Haverley came in from his long moon- 
light ramble, he was so happy that he went to bed 
and slept soundly all night. But before he closed his 
eyes he said to himself : 

“I will do that to-morrow— the very first thing to- 
morrow.” 

But people do not always do what they intend to do 
the very first thing in the morning, and this was the 
case with Ralph. La Fleur, who knew that a letter 
was expected, sent Mike early to the post-office, and 
soon after breakfast Ralph had a letter from Miriam. 
It was a long one. It gave a full account of the 
drowning accident, and of some of her own experi- 
ences, but it said not one word of the message sent by 
Miss Panney, to whom Miriam alluded very slightly. 
It gave, however, the important information that Mrs. 
Bannister had been so affected by the dreadful scene 
on the beach that she declared she could not go into 
the ocean again, nor even bear the sight of it, and 
that, therefore, they were all coming home on the 
morrow. 


362 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“She will be here to-night,” said Ralph, who knew 
the trains from Barport. 

As soon as he had read the letter Ralph went to 
look for Cicely. She had come down late to breakfast, 
and he had been surprised at her soberness of manner. 
On the other hand, Mrs. Drane had been surprised at 
Ralph’s soberness of manner, and she found herself in 
the unusual position of the liveliest person at the 
breakfast-table. 

“ People who have heard such good news ought to 
be very happy,” she thought, but she made no re- 
mark on the subject. 

It was Cicely’s custom to spend the brief time she 
allowed herself between breakfast and work upon the 
lawn, or somewhere out of doors, but to-day Ralph 
searched in vain for her. He met La Fleur, however, 
and that conscientious cook, in her most respectful 
manner, asked him, if he happened to meet Miss 
Cicely, would he be so good as to give her a message ¥ 

“But I don’t know where she is,” said Ralph. “I 
have a letter to show her.” 

La Fleur wished very much to know what was in 
the letter, which, she supposed, explained the mystery 
of the telegrams, but at a moment like this she would 
not ask. 

“She is in the garden, sir,” she said. “I asked her to 
gather me some lettuce for luncheon. She does it so 
much more nicely than I could do it, or Mike. She 
selects the crispest and most tender leaves of that 
crimped and curled lettuce you all like so much. And 
I thought I would ask you, sir, if you met her, to be 
so very kind as to tell her that I would like a few 
sprigs of parsley— just a very few. I would go myself, 
363 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


sir, but there is something cooking which I cannot 
leave, and I beg your pardon for troubling you, and 
will thank you, sir, very much if you— ” 

It was not worth while for her to finish her sen- 
tence, for Ralph had gone. 

He found Cicely just as she stooped over the lettuce- 
bed. She rose with a face like a peach-blossom. 

“I have a letter from Miriam,” he said. “I will give 
it to you presently, and you may read the whole of it, 
but I must first tell you that she, with Mrs. Bannister 
and Dora, are coming home to-day. They will reach 
Thorbury late this afternoon. Isn’t that glorious f ” 
All the delicate hues of the peach-blossom went out 
of Cicely’s face. That everlasting person had come up 
again, and now he called her Dora, and it was glori- 
ous to have her back ! She did not have to say any- 
thing, for Ralph went rapidly on. 

“But before they leave Barport,” he said, “I want 
to send Miriam a telegram. If Mike takes it imme- 
diately to Thorbury, she will get it before her train 
leaves.” 

“A telegram ! ” exclaimed Cicely, but she did not 
look up at him. 

“Yes,” said he. “I want to telegraph to Miriam 
that you and I are engaged to be married. I want 
her to know it before she gets here. Shall I send it? ” 
She raised to him a face more brightly hued than 
any peach-blossom — rich with the color of the ripe 
fruit. Ten minutes after this, two wood-doves, sitting 
in a tree to the east of the lettuce-bed, and looking 
westward, turned around on their twig and looked 
toward the east. They were sunny-minded little 
creatures, and did not like to be cast into the shade. 

364 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


As they went out of the garden gate, Cicely said, 
“You have always been a very independent person 
and accustomed to doing very much as you please, 
haven’t you ? ” 

“It has been something like that,” answered Ralph. 
“But why? ” 

“Only this,” she said. “Would you begin already to 
chafe and rebel if I were to ask you not to send that 
telegram? It would be so much nicer to tell her after 
she gets back.” 

“Chafe ! ” exclaimed Ralph. “I should think not. I 
will do exactly as you wish.” 

“You are awfully good,” said Cicely, “but you must 
agree with me more prudently now that we are out 
here, and I will not tell mother until Miriam knows.” 

A gray old chanticleer, who was leading his hens 
across the yard, stopped at this moment and looked 
at Ralph, but it is not certain that he sniffed. 

Ralph knew very well when people coming from 
Barport should arrive in Thorbury, but his mind was 
so occupied that when he went to the barn he forgot 
so many things he should have done at the house, and 
he ran backward and forward so often, and waited so 
long for an opportunity to say something he had just 
thought of, to somebody who did not happen to be 
ready to listen at the precise moment he wished to 
speak, that he had just stepped into the gig to go to 
the station for his sister, when Miriam arrived alone 
in the Bannister carriage. Not finding anybody at 
the station to meet her, they had sent her on. 

Mrs. Drane was not the liveliest person at the 
dinner-table, and she wondered much how Ralph and 
Cicely, who had been so extremely sober at breakfast- 
365 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

time, should now be so hilarious. The arrival of 
Miriam seemed hardly reason enough for such in- 
temperate gayety. 

As for Miriam, she overflowed with delight. The 
ocean was grand, but Cobhurst was Cobhurst. “ There 
was nothing better about my trip than the oppor- 
tunity it gave me of coming back to my home. I 
never did that before, you know, my children.” 

This she said loftily from her seat at the head of the 
table. Dinner was late and lasted long, and afterwards 
Ralph had gone into the room on the lower floor, in 
which he kept his cigars, and which he called his 
office, when Miriam followed him. There was no 
unencumbered chair, and she seated herself on the 
edge of the table. 

“ Ralph,” said she, “I want to say something to 
you now, while it is fresh in my mind. I think we 
can sometimes understand our affairs better when we 
go away from them and are not mixed up in them. 
I have been thinking a great deal since I have been 
at Barport about our affairs here,— not only as they 
are, but as they may be, and most likely will be, — 
and I have come to the conclusion that some of these 
days, Ralph, you will want to be married.” 

“ho you mean me?” cried Ralph. “You amaze 
me ! ” 

“Oh, you are only a man, and you need not be 
amazed,” said his sister. “This is the way I have 
been thinking of it : if you ever do want to get mar- 
ried, I hope you will not marry Dora Bannister. I 
used sometimes to think that that might be a good 
thing to do, though I changed my mind very often 
about it, but I do not think so now at all. Dora is 
366 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


an awfully nice girl in ever so many ways, but since 
I have been at Barport with her, I am positive that 
I do not want you to marry her.” 

Ralph heaved a long sigh and put his hands in his 
pockets. 

“Bless my soul ! ” he exclaimed, “this is very 
discouraging. If I do not marry Dora, who is there 
that I can marry ? ” 

“You goose,” said his sister, “there is a girl here, 
under your very nose, ever so much nicer and more 
suitable for you than Dora. If you marry anybody, 
marry Cicely Drane. I have been thinking ever and 
ever so much about her and about you, and I made 
up my mind to speak to you of this as soon as I got 
home, so that you might have a chance to think about 
it before you should see Dora. Don’t you remember 
what you used to tell me about the time when you 
were obliged to travel so much, and how, when you 
had a seat to yourself in a car, and a crowd of people 
were coming in, you used to make room for the first 
nice person you saw, because you knew you would 
have to have somebody sitting alongside of you, and 
you liked to choose for yourself? How that is the 
way I feel about your getting married ; if you marry 
Cicely Drane, I shall feel safe for the rest of my 
life.” 

“Miriam !” exclaimed Ralph, “you astonish me by 
the force of your statements. Wait here one mo- 
ment.” And he ran into the hall, through which he 
had seen Cicely passing, and presently reappeared 
with her. 

“Miss Drane,” said he, “do you know that my sister 
thinks that I ought to marry you?” 

367 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


In an instant Miriam had slipped from the table to 
the floor. 

“Good gracious, Ralph!” she cried. “What do 
you mean ? ” 

“I am merely stating your advice,” he answered. 
“Now, Miss Drane, how does it strike you?” 

“Well,” said Cicely, demurely, “if your sister really 
thinks we should marry, I suppose— I suppose we 
ought to do it.” 

Miriam’s eyes flashed from one to the other, then 
there were two girlish cries and a manly laugh, and 
in a moment Miriam and Cicely were in each other’s 
arms, while Ralph’s arms were around them both. 

“Now,” said Cicely, when this group had separated 
itself into its several parts, “I must run up and tell 
mother.” And very soon Mrs. Drane understood 
why there had been sobriety at breakfast and hilarity 
at dinner. She was surprised, but felt she ought not 
to be ; she was a little depressed, but knew she would 
get over that. 

La Fleur did not hear the news that night, but it 
was not necessary ; she had seen Ralph and Cicely 
coming through the garden gate without a leaf of 
lettuce or a single sprig of parsley. 


368 


CHAPTER XL 

ANGKRY WAVES 

The ocean rolled angrily on the beach, and Miss Pan- 
ney walked angrily on the beach— a little higher up, 
however, than the line to which the ocean rolled. 

The old lady was angrier than the ocean, and it was 
much more than mere wind that made her storm 
waves roll. Her indignation was directed first against 
Mrs. Bannister, that silly woman who, by cutting 
short her stay at the sea-shore, had ruined Miss Pan- 
ney’s plans, and also against Ralph, who had not come 
to Barport as soon as he had received the telegram. 
If he had arrived, the party might have stayed a 
little longer for his sake. Why he had not come she 
knew no more than she knew what she was going to 
say to him in explanation of her message, and she 
cared as little for the one as for the other. 

Her own visit to Barport had been utterly useless. 
She had spent money and time, she had tired herself, 
had been frightened and disgusted, all for nothing. 
She did not remember any of her plans that had failed 
so utterly. 

Meeting the bathing-master, she rolled in upon him 
some ireful waves because he did not keep a boat 


369 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


outside the breakers to pick up people who might be 
exhausted and in danger of drowning. In vain the 
man protested that ten thousand people had said that 
to him before, and that the thing could not be done, 
because so many swimmers would make for the boat 
and hang on to its sides, just to rest themselves until 
they were ready to go back. It would simply be a 
temptation to people to swim beyond the breakers. 
She went on, in a voice that the noise of the surf 
could not drown, to tell him that she hoped ten thou- 
sand more people would say the same thing to him, 
and to declare that he ought to have several boats 
outside during bathing hours, so that people could 
cling to some of them, and so, perhaps, save them- 
selves from exhaustion on their return, and so that 
one, at least, could be kept free to succor the dis- 
tressed. At last the poor man vowed that he acted 
under orders, and that, if she wanted to pitch into 
anybody, she ought to pitch into the proprietors of 
the hotel who employed him, and who told him what 
he must do. 

Miss Panney accepted this advice, and if the sea 
had broken into the private office of that hotel, the 
owners and managers could not have had a worse 
time than they had during the old lady’s visit. It 
may be stated that for the remainder of the season 
two or three boats might always be seen outside the 
breakers during bathing hours at the Barport beach. 

For the sake of appearances, Miss Panney did not 
leave Barport immediately, for she did not wish her 
friends to think that she was a woman who would run 
after the Bannisters wherever they might please to 
go. But in a reasonable time she found herself in the 
370 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Witton household, and the maid who had charge of 
her room had some lively minutes after the arrival of 
the old lady therein. 

The next day she went to Thorbury to see what 
had happened, and chanced to spy Phoebe resting her- 
self on a bench at the edge of the public green. In- 
stantly the colored woman sprang to her feet and 
began to explain to Miss Panney why she had not 
made her report before the latter set out on her jour- 
ney. 

“You see, ma’am, I hadn’t no shoes as was fit for 
that long walk out in the country, and I had to take 
my best ones to the shoemaker, and though I did my 
best to make him hurry, it took him a whole day, and 
so I had to put off going to Cobhurst, and I’ve never 
got over my walk out thar yit. My j’ints has creaked 
ever sence.” 

“If you used them more they would creak less,” 
snapped Miss Panney. “How are things going on at 
Cobhurst f What did you see there ? ” 

“I seed a lot, and I heard a lot,” the colored woman 
answered. “Mike’s purty nigh starved, and does his 
own washin’. And things are in that state in the 
house that would make you sick, Miss Panney, if you 
could see them. What the rain doesn’t wash goes 
dirty ; and as for that old cook they’ve got, if she isn’t 
drunk all the time, her mind’s givin’ way, and I expect 
she’ll end by pizenin’ all of them. The vittles she 
gave me to eat, bein’ nearly tired to death when I 
got thar, was sich that they give me pains that I 
hain’t got over yit. And what would have happened 
if I’d eat a full meal, nobody knows.” 

“Get out with you,” cried Miss Panney. “I don’t 
371 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


want any more of your jealousy and spite. If that 
woman gave you anything to eat, I expect it was the 
only decently cooked thing you ever put into your 
mouth. Did you see Mr. Haverley ? Were the Drane 
women still there? How were they all getting on 
together f ” 

Phoebe’s eyes sparkled, and her voice took on a 
little shrillness. 

“I was goin’ to git the minister to write you a 
letter ’bout that, Miss Panney,” said she, “but you 
didn’t tell me whar you was goin’, nor give me no 
money for stamps nor nothin’. But I kin say to you 
now that that woman, which some people may call a 
cook, but I don’t, she told me, without my askin’ a 
word ’bout nothin’, that Mr. Haverley and that little 
Miss Drane was to be married in the fall, and that 
they was goin’ away all of them to the wife’s mother’s 
to live, bein’ that that old farm out thar didn’t pay 
to run, and never would. I reckoned they’d git sick 
of it afore this, which I always said.” 

“Phoebe ! ” exclaimed Miss Panney, “I do not be- 
lieve a word of all that ! How dare you tell me such 
a lot of lies?” 

Phoebe was getting very angry, though she did not 
dare to show it ; but instead of taking back anything 
she had said, she put on more lie-power. 

“You may believe me, Miss Panney, or you 
needn’t ; that’s just as you choose,” she said. “But I 
can tell you more than I have told you, and that is 
that, from what I’ve seen and heard, I believe Mr. 
Haverley and Miss Drane is married already, and that 
they was only waitin’ for the Tolbridges to come 
home to send out the cards.” 


372 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Miss Panney glared at the woman. “I tell you 
what I believe, and that is that you never went to 
Cobhurst at all. You think you must tell me some- 
thing, and you are making up the biggest story you 
can.” And with this she marched away. 

“I reckon the next time she sends me on a arrand,” 
thought Phoebe, whose face would have been very 
red if her natural color had not interfered with 
the exhibition of such a hue, “she’ll send me in a 
hack, and pay me somethin’ for my time. I was 
bound to tell her ’zactly what she didn’t want to 
hear, and I reckon I done it, and, more’n that, if she 
gets her back up ’bout this, and goes out to Cobhurst, 
that old cook’ll find herself in hot water. It was 
mighty plain that she was dreadful skeered for fear 
anybody would think thar was somethin’ goin’ on 
’twixt them two.” 

If Phoebe had been more moderate in her double- 
headed treachery, Miss Panney might have been 
much disturbed by her news, but the story she had 
heard was so preposterous that she really believed 
that the lazy colored woman had not gone to Cob- 
hurst, and by the time she reached the Bannister 
house her mind was cleared for the reception of fresh 
impressions. 

She was fortunate enough to find Dora alone, and 
as soon as it was prudent she asked her what news 
she had heard from Cobhurst. Dora was looking her 
loveliest in an early autumn costume, and answered 
that she had heard nothing at all, which surprised 
Miss Panney very much, for she had expected that 
Miriam would have been to see Dora before this 
time. 


373 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“ Common politeness would dictate that / 7 said Miss 
Panney, “but I expect that that child is so elated 
and excited by getting back to the head of her house- 
hold that everything else has slipped out of her mind. 
But if you two are such close friends, I don’t think 
you ought to mind that sort of thing. If I were you, 
I would go out and see her. Eccentric people must 
be humored . 77 

“They needn’t expect that from me,” said Dora, a 
little sharply. “If Miriam lived there by herself, I 
might go, but as it is, I shall not. It is their duty to 
come here, and I shall not go there until they do.” 

Miss Panney drummed upon the table, but other- 
wise did not show her impatience. 

“We can never live the life we ought in this world, 
my dear,” she said, “if we allow our sensitive fancies 
to interfere with the advancement of our interests.” 

“Miss Panney,” cried Dora, sitting upright in her 
chair, “do you mean that I ought to go out there and 
try to catch Kalph Haverley, no matter how they 
treat me ? 77 

“Yes,” said Miss Panney, leaning back in her chair, 
“that is exactly what I mean. There is no use of our 
mincing matters, and as I hold that it is the duty of 
every young woman to get herself well married, I 
think it is your duty to marry Mr. Haverley if you 
can. You will never meet a man better suited to 
you, and who can use your money with as much ad- 
vantage to yourself. I do not mean that you should 
go and make love to him, or anything of that sort. I 
simply mean that you should allow him to expose 
himself to your influences.” 

“I shall do nothing of the kind ! 77 cried Dora, her 
374 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


face in a flush. “If he wants that sort of exposure, 
let him come here. I don’t know whether I want 
him to come or not. I am too young to he thinking 
of marrying anybody, and though I don’t want to be 
disrespectful to you, Miss Panney, I will say that I 
am getting dreadfully tired of your continual harping 
about Ralph Haverley, and trying to make me push 
myself in front of him so that his lordship may look 
at me. If he had been at Barport, or there had been 
any chance of his coming there, I should have sus- 
pected that you went there for the express purpose 
of keeping us up to the work of becoming attached 
to each other. And I say plainly that I shall have 
no more to do with exerting influence on him, through 
his sister or in any other way. There are thousands 
of other men just as good as he is, and if I have not 
met any of them yet, I have no doubt I shall do so.” 

“Dora,” said Miss Panney, speaking very gently, 
“you are wrong when you say that there was no 
chance of Ralph’s coming to Barport. If some things 
had not gone wrong, I have reason to believe he 
would have been there before you left, and I am quite 
sure that if you had stayed there until now, you 
would have been walking on the sands with him at 
this minute.” 

Dora looked at her in surprise, and the flush on 
her face subsided a little. 

“What do you mean?” she asked. “You do not 
think he would have gone there on my account?” 

“Yes, I do,” said Miss Panney. “That is exactly 
what I mean. And now, my dear Dora, do not let—” 

At this moment Mrs. Bannister walked into the 
room, and was very glad to see Miss Panney, and to 
375 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

know that she had returned in safety from the sea- 
shore. 

When Dora went up to her room, after the visitor 
had gone, she shut the door and sat down to think. 

“ After all,” she said to herself, “I do not believe 
much in the thousand other men. Not one of them 
is here, and none may ever come, and if Ralph really 
did intend to come to me at the sea-shore, I wish we 
had stayed there. It is such a good place to find out 
just how people feel.” 

In this frame of mind she sat and thought and 
thought, until a servant, who had been to the post- 
office, came up and brought her a note from Miriam 
Haverley. 

The next morning Dora Bannister, in an open car- 
riage, drawn by the family bays, appeared at the door 
of the Witton mansion. Miss Panney, with overshoes 
on and a little shawl about her, for the mornings were 
beginning to be cool, was walking up and down be- 
tween two rows of old-fashioned boxwood-bushes. She 
hurried forward, for she knew very well that Dora 
had not come to call on the Wittons. 

“Miss Panney,” said the young lady, “I am on my 
way to Cobhurst, and I thought you might like to go 
there ; and so, if you choose, I shall be glad to take 
you with me.” 

“Now, my dear girl,” said Miss Panney, “you are a 
trump. I always thought you were, but I will not say 
anything more about that. I shall be delighted to go 
with you, and we can talk on the way. If you will 
come in or take a seat on the piazza, I shall be ready 
in five minutes.” 

As Miss Panney busied herself preparing for the 
376 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

drive and the call, her mind was a great deal more 
active than her rapid fingers. She had been intend- 
ing to go to Cobhurst, but did not wish to do so until 
she had decided what she should say to Ralph about 
the telegram she had sent him. Until that morning, 
this had given her very little concern, but as the time 
approached when it would be absolutely necessary to 
speak upon the subject, she found that she was a good 
deal concerned about it. She saw that it was very 
important that nothing should be said to rouse Ralph 
into opposition. 

But now everything seemed bright and clear before 
her. After Dora, looking perfectly lovely, as she did 
this morning, had shone upon Ralph for half an hour, 
or even less, the old lady felt that if the young man 
asked her any questions about her telegram she would 
not in the least mind telling him how she came to 
send it, giving him, of course, a version of her motive 
which would make him understand her anxious solici- 
tude, in case anything had happened to any one dear 
to him, that his arrival should not be delayed an in- 
stant, as well as the sympathetic delight she would have 
felt in witnessing the joy his presence in Barport 
would cause to the dear ones, alive and well. 

This somewhat complicated explanation might need 
policy and alteration, but Miss Panney now felt quite 
ready for anything Ralph might ask about the tele- 
gram. If any one else asked any questions, she would 
answer as happened to please her. 

As they drove away Miss Panney immediately began 
to congratulate Dora on her return to her senses. She 
was in high good humor. “You ought to know, my 
dear, that if the loveliest woman in the world found 
377 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


herself stuck in a quagmire, it would be quite foolish 
for her to expect that the right sort of man would 
come and pull her out. In all probability it would 
be precisely the wrong sort of man who would do it. 
Consequently it would be wise in her, if she saw the 
right sort of man going by, not only to let him know 
that she was there, but to let him understand that she 
was worth pulling out. All women are born in a 
quagmire, and some are so anxious to get out that 
they take the first hand that is stretched toward them, 
and some, I am sorry to say, never get out at all. 
But they are the wise ones who do not leave it to 
chance who shall be their liberators. Number your- 
self, my dear, among this happy class. I am so glad 
it is cool enough this morning for you to wear that 
lovely costume. It is as likely as not that by to-mor- 
row it will be too warm. All these little things tell, 
my child, and I am glad to know that even the ther- 
mometer is your friend.” 

“I had a letter from Miriam yesterday afternoon,” 
said Dora, “in which she told me that her brother 
Ralph is engaged to Miss Drane.” 

Miss Panney turned around like a weather-vane 
struck by a squall. She seized the girl’s arm with 
her bony fingers. 

“What ! ” she exclaimed. 

Ordinarily, the pain of the old lady’s grasp would 
have made Dora wince, but she did not seem to feel it. 
Without the slightest sign of emotion in her face, she 
answered : 

“It is so. It happened while I was at Barport.” 

“Stop ! ” cried Miss Panney, in a voice that made 
the driver pull up his horses with a jerk. In a mo- 
378 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


ment she had stepped from the low carriage to the 
ground, and with quick strides was walking back to 
the Witton house. Dora turned in the seat, looked 
after her, and laughed. It was a sudden, bitter laugh, 
which the circumstances made derisive. 

Never before had Miss Panney’s soul been so stung, 
burned, and lacerated, all at once, as by this laugh. 
But the sound had scarcely left Dora Bannister’s lips 
when she bounded out of the carriage and ran after 
the old lady. Throwing her arms around her neck, 
she kissed her on the cheek. 

“I am awfully sorry I did that,” she said, “and I 
beg your pardon. I don’t mind the thing a bit, and 
won’t you let me take you home in the carriage I ” 

Dora might as well have embraced a mile -stone and 
talked to it, for the moment she could release herself, 
Miss Panney stalked away without a word. 

When she was again driving toward Cobhurst, Dora 
took from the front of the carriage a little hand- 
mirror, and carefully arranged her hat, her feathers, 
her laces and ribbons. Then, having satisfied herself 
that her features were in perfect order, she put back 
her glass. 

“I am not going to let any of them see,” she said, 
“that I mind it in the least.” 


379 


CHAPTER XLI 


PANNEYOPATHY AND THE ASH-HOLE 

Neither Ralph nor his sister nor either of the Drane 
ladies had the least reason to believe that Dora minded 
the news contained in Miriam’s note, except that it 
had given her a heartfelt delight and joy, and that it 
had made her unable to wait a single moment longer 
than was necessary to come and tell them all how 
earnestly she congratulated them, and what a capital 
good thing she thought it was. She caught Ralph by 
himself, and spoke to him so much like a sympathetic 
sister that he was a little, just the least little bit in 
the world, pained. 

As Cicely had never had any objection to Miss 
Bannister, excepting her frequent appearances in 
Ralph’s conversation, she received Dora’s felicitations 
with the same cordiality that she saw in her lovely 
eyes and on her lips. And Mrs. Drane thought that 
if this girl were a sample of the Haverleys’ friends and 
neighbors, her daughter’s lot would be even more 
pleasant than she had supposed it would be. As for 
Miriam, she and Dora walked together, their arms 
around each other’s waists, up and down in the garden, 
and back and forward in the orchard, until the Ban- 
nister coachman went to sleep on his box. 

380 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


During this long interview, the younger girl became 
impressed, not only with the fact that Dora thought 
so well of the match that, if she had been looking for 
a wife for Ralph, she certainly would have selected 
Miss Drane, but with the stability of Miss Bannister’s 
affection for her, which did not seem to be affected in 
the least by the changes which would take place in 
the composition of the Cobhurst household. Dora 
had said, indeed, that she had no doubt that she and 
Miriam would be more intimate than ever, because 
Mr. Haverley would be so monopolized by his wife. 

This was all very pleasant to Miriam, but it did not 
in the least cause her to regret Ralph’s choice. Dora 
was a lovely girl, but it was now plainer than ever 
that she was also a very superior one, whereas Cicely 
was just like other people and did not pretend to be 
anything more. And, moreover, she would not have 
wished her brother to marry any one whose idea of 
matrimony was the monopoly of her husband, and she 
knew that Cicely had no such idea. But Dora was 
the dearest of good friends— Miriam was very sure of 
that. 

The Bannister carriage had scarcely left the Cob- 
hurst gates when the dog Congo came bounding after 
it. Dora looked at him as his great brown eyes were 
turned up toward her, and his tail was wagging with 
the joy of following her once more. She knew that 
his training was so good that she had only to tell him 
to go back and he would obey her, sorrowfully, with 
his tail hanging down. He was Ralph’s dog now, and 
she ought to send him back, but would she? She 
looked at him for a few moments, considering the 
question, and then she said, “Come, Congo,” and with 
381 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


a bound he was in the carriage and at her feet. “You 
were not an out-and-out gift, poor fellow,” she said, 
stroking his head. “I expected you to be partly my 
dog all the same, and now we will see if she will let 
him claim you.” 

The dog heard all this, but Dora spoke so low that 
the coachman could not hear it, and she did not intend 
that any one else should know it unless the dog told. 

Ralph did not miss Congo until the next morning, 
and then, having become convinced that the dog must 
have followed the Bannister carriage, he expressed, in 
the presence of Cicely, his uncertainty as to whether 
it would be better for him to go after the dog himself, 
or to send Mike. 

“If I were you,” said Miss Cicely, “I would not send 
for him at all. If Miss Bannister really wants to get 
rid of him, and does not know anybody else who would 
take him, she may send him back herself. But it 
seems to me that a setter is not the best sort of a dog 
for a farm like this. I should think you ought to 
have a big mastiff, or something of that sort.” 

“It is a great pity,” said Ralph, musingly, “that he 
happened to be unchained.” 

“The more I think about it,” said Cicely, “the less 
I like setters. They are so intimately connected with 
the death of the beautiful. Did you ever think of 
that?” 

Ralph never had, and as a man now came up to talk 
to him about hay, the dog and everything connected 
with it passed out of his mind. 

When Miss Panney reached home after her abrupt 
parting from Dora Bannister, she took a dose of the 
last medicine that Dr. Tolbridge had prescribed for 
382 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


her. It was against her rules to use internal medi- 
cines, but she made exceptions on important occasions, 
and as this was a remedy for the effects of anger, she 
had taken it before and she took it now. Then she 
went to bed, and there she stayed until three o’clock 
the next afternoon. This greatly disturbed the Wit- 
tons, for they had always believed that this hearty old 
lady would not be carried off by any disease, but, when 
her time had come, would simply take to her bed and 
die there, after the manner of elderly animals. 

About the middle of the afternoon Mrs. Witton 
came up into her room. She did not do this often, for 
the old lady had always made everybody in the house 
understand that this room was her castle, and when 
any one was wanted there, he or she would be sum- 
moned. 

“You must be feeling very badly,” said the meek 
and anxious Mrs. Witton. “Don’t you think it would 
be better to send for a doctor? ” 

“There is no doctor,” said Miss Panney, shortly. 

“Oh, yes,” said the other, “there are several excel- 
lent doctors in Thorbury, and Dr. Parker takes all of 
Dr. Tolbridge’s practice while he is away.” 

“Stuff!” remarked Miss Panney. “I spanked Dr. 
Parker, when he wore little frocks, for running his 
tin wheelbarrow against me so that I nearly fell over 
it.” 

“But he has learned a great deal since then,” pleaded 
Mrs. Witton. “And if you do not want any new doctors, 
isn’t there something I can do for you? If you will 
tell me how you feel, it may be that some sort of herb 
tea— or a mustard-plaster—” 

“Gammon and spinach ! ” cried Miss Panney, throw- 

383 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


in g off the bedclothes as if she were about to spring 
into the middle of the floor. “I want no teas nor 
plasters. I have had as much sleep as I care for, and 
now I am going to get up. So trot down-stairs, if you 
please, and tell Margaret to bring me up some hot 
water.’ 7 

For an hour or two before supper- time, Miss Panney 
occupied herself in clearing out her medicine-closet. 
Every bottle, jar, vial, box, or package it contained 
was placed upon a large table and divided into two 
collections. One consisted of the lotions and medicines 
prescribed for her by Dr. Tolbridge, and the other of 
those she herself, in the course of many years, had 
ordered or compounded— not only for her own use, 
but for that of others. She had long prided herself 
on her skill in this sort of thing, and was always will- 
ing to prepare almost any sort of medicine for ailing 
people, asking nothing in payment but the pleasure 
of seeing them take it. 

When everything had been examined and placed 
on its appropriate end of the table, Miss Panney called 
for an empty coal-scuttle, into which she tumbled, 
without regard to spilling or breakage, the whole 
mass of medicaments which had been prepared or pre- 
scribed by herself, and she then requested the servant 
to deposit the contents of the scuttle in the ash-hole. 

“ After this,” she said to herself, “I will get some- 
body else to do my concocting,” and she carefully 
replaced her physician’s medicines on the shelves. 

It was three days later when Miss Panney was told 
that Dr. Tolbridge was in the parlor and wished to 
see her. 

“Well,” said the old lady, as she entered the parlor, 

384 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“I supposed that, after your last call here, you would 
not come again.” 

“Oh, bless my soul!” said the doctor, “I haven’t 
any time to consider what has happened ; 1 must give 
my whole attention to what is happening or may 
happen. How are you? and how have you been dur- 
ing my absence ? ” 

“Oh, I had medicines enough,” said she, “if I had 
needed them, but I didn’t.” 

“Well, I wanted to see for myself, and, besides, I 
was obliged to come,” said the doctor. “I want to 
know what has happened since we left. We got home 
late last night, and I have not seen anybody who 
knows anything.” 

“And so,” said the old lady, “you will swallow an 
insult in order to gratify your curiosity.” 

“Insult, indeed ! ” said he. “I have a regular rule 
about insults. When anybody under thirty insults 
me, I give her a piece of my mind if she is a woman, 
and a taste of my horsewhip if he is a man. But 
between thirty and fifty I am very careful about my 
resentments, because people are then very likely to be 
cracked or damaged in some way or other, either in 
body or mind, and, unless I am very cautious, I may 
do more injury than I intend. But toward folks over 
fifty, especially when they are old friends, I have no 
resentments at all. I simply button up my coat and 
turn up my collar, and let the storm pelt ; and when 
it is fine weather again, I generally find that I have 
forgotten that it ever rained.” 

“And when a person is in the neighborhood of 
seventy-five, I suppose you thank her kindly for a 
good slap in the face.” 


385 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


The doctor laughed heartily. 

“ Precisely,” said he. “And now tell me what has 
happened. You are all right, I see. How are the 
Cobhurst people getting on?” 

“Oh, well enough,” said Miss Panney. “The young 
man and that Cicely Drane of yours have agreed to 
marry each other, and I suppose the old lady will live 
with them, and Miriam will have to get down from 
her high horse and agree to play second fiddle, or go 
to school again. She is too young for anything else.” 

The doctor stared. “You amaze me ! ” he cried. 

“Oh, you needn’t be amazed,” said Miss Panney. 
“I did it ! ” 

“You?” said the doctor. “I thought you wanted 
him to marry Dora.” 

“If you thought that,” said Miss Panney, flashing 
her black eyes upon him, “why did you lend yourself 
to such an underhanded piece of business as the send- 
ing of that Drane girl there ? ” 

“Oh, bless my soul !” exclaimed the doctor, “I did 
not lend myself to anything. I did not send her there 
to be married. Let us drop that, and tell me how you 
came to change your mind.” 

“I have a rule about dropping things,” said the old 
lady, “and with people of vigorous intellect I never 
do it ; but when any one is getting on in years and a 
little soft-minded, so that he does what he is told to 
do without being able to see the consequences of it, I 
pity him and drop the subject which worries his con- 
science. I have not changed my mind in the least. I 
still think that Dora would be the best wife young 
Haverley could have. And after I found that you had 
386 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


added to your treacheries or stupidities, or whatever 
they were, by carrying her off to Barport, I intended 
to take advantage of the situation. So I got Dora to 
invite Miriam there, feeling sure that the Drane 
women would have sense enough to know that they 
then ought to leave Cobhurst ; but they had not sense 
enough, and they stayed there. Then I saw that the 
situation was critical, and went to Barport myself, and 
sent the young man a telegram that would have 
aroused the heart of a feather-bed and made it be 
with me in three hours, but it did not rouse him, and 
he did not come j and before that silly Mrs. Bannister 
got back with the two girls the mischief was done, 
and that little Drane had taken advantage of the op- 
portunity I had given her to trap Mr. Ralph. Oh, 
she is a sharp one ! And with you and me to help 
her, she could do almost anything. You take off her 
rival, and I send away the interfering sister, and all 
she has to do is to snap up the young man, while her 
mother and that illustrious cook of yours stand by and 
clap their hands. But I do not give you much credit. 
You are merely an inconsiderate blunderer, to say no 
more. You did not plan anything. I did that, and 
when my plans don’t work one way, they do in 
another. This one was like a boomerang that did 
not hit what it was aimed at, but came banging and 
clattering back all the same. And now I will remark 
that I have given up that sort of thing. I can throw 
as well as ever, but I am too old to stand the back 
cracks.” 

“ You are not too old for anything,” said the doctor, 
“and you and I will do a lot of planning yet. But 
387 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


tell me one thing : do you think that this Haverley- 
Drane combination is going to deprive me of La 
Fleur? ” 

“Upon my word ! ” cried the old lady, springing to 
her feet, “never did I see a man so steeped in selfish- 
ness. Not a word of sympathy for me ! In all this 
unfortunate affair, you think of nothing but the 
danger of losing your cook ! Well, I am happy to 
say you are going to lose her. That will be your 
punishment, and well you deserve it. She will no 
more think of staying with you, after the Dranes set 
up housekeeping at Cobhurst, than I would think of 
coming to cook for you. And so you may go back to 
your soggy bread, and your greasy fries, and your 
dish-water coffee, and get yellow and green in the 
face, thin in the legs, and weak in the stomach, and 
have good reason to say to yourself that if you had 
let Miss Panney alone, and let her work out that 
excellent plan she had confided to you, you would 
have lived to a healthy old age, with the best cook in 
this part of the country making you happy three 
times a day, and satisfied with the world between 
meals.” 

“Deal gently with the erring,” said the doctor. 
“Don’t crush me. I want to go to Cobhurst, this 
morning, to see them all and find out my fate. 
Wouldn’t you like to go with me? I have a visit to 
make two or three miles above here, but I shall be back 
soon, and will drive you over. What do you say ? ” 

“Very good,” said Miss Panney. “I have been 
thinking of calling on the happy family.” 

As soon as the doctor had departed Miss Panney 
ordered her phaeton. 


388 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“I intended going to Cobhurst to-day,” she said to 
herself, “but I do not propose to go with him. I 
shall get there first and see how the land lies before 
he comes to muddle up things with his sordid anxie- 
ties about his future victuals and drink.” 


389 


CHAPTER XLII 


AN INTERVIEWEE 

The roan mare travelled well that morning, and 
Miss Panney was at Cobhurst before the doctor reached 
his patient’s house. To her regret, she found that 
Mrs. Drane and Miriam had driven to Thorbury. 
Miss Drane was up-stairs at her work, and Mr. Haver- 
ley was somewhere on the place, but could easily be 
found. All this she learned from Mike, whom she 
saw outside. 

“And where is the cook? ” 

“ She’s in the kitchen,” said Mike. 

“A good place for her,” replied the old lady. “Let 
her stay there. I will see Mr. Haverley, and I will 
see him out here. Go and find him, and tell him I am 
sitting under that tree.” 

Ralph arrived, bright-eyed. 

“Well, sir,” cried the old lady, “and so you have 
decided to take a wife to yourself, eh ? ” 

“Indeed I have,” said he, with the air of one who 
had conquered a continent, and giving Miss Panney’s 
outstretched hand a hearty shake. 

“Sit down here,” said she, “and tell me all about it. 
I suppose your soul is hungering for congratulations.” 

390 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“Oh, yes,” lie said, laughing, “they are the collateral 
delights which are next best to the main happiness.” 

“Now,” said Miss Panney, “I suppose you feel quite 
certain that Miss Drane is a young woman who will 
suit your temperament and your general intellectual 
needs 1 ” 

“Indeed I do,” cried Ralph. “She suits me in 
every possible way.” 

“And you have thoroughly investigated her char- 
acter, and know that she has the well-balanced mind 
which will be very much wanted here, and that she 
has cut off and swept away all remnants of former 
attachments to other young men ? ” 

Ralph twisted himself around impatiently. 

“One moment,” said Miss Panney, raising her hand. 
“And you are quite positive that she would have been 
willing to marry you if you had not owned this big 
farm ; and that if you had had a dozen other girls to 
choose from, you still would have chosen her ; and 
that you really think such a small person will appear 
well by the side of a tall fellow like you ; and you are 
entirely convinced that you will never look around 
on other men’s wives and wish that your wife was 
more like this one or that one ; and that—” 

“Miss Panney ! ” cried Ralph, “do you suppose there 
was ever a man in the world who thought about all 
those things when he really loved a woman?” 

“No,” said she, “I do not suppose there ever was 
one, and it was in the hope that such a one had at 
last appeared on earth that I put my questions to 
you.” 

“Well, I can answer them all in a bunch,” said he. 
“She is exactly the wife I want, and nobody in the 
391 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

world would suit me as well. And if there is any one 
who does not think so—” 

“Stop ! ” exclaimed Miss Panney. “Your face is get- 
ting red. Never jump over a wall when there is a 
bottomless ditch on the other side. You might miss 
the ditch, but it is not likely. You are in love, and 
when people are that way, the straight back of a saw 
is parallel to every line of its teeth. Don’t quarrel, 
and I will go on with my congratulations.” 

“Very queer ones they are, so far, I am sure,” replied 
Ralph, his face still flushed a little. 

“Oh, yes,” said Miss Panney, rising, “there are a lot 
of queer things in this world, and I may be one of 
them. Now I will go and see your young lady. I do 
not know her very well yet, and I must make her 
better acquaintance.” 

“Miss Panney,” said Ralph, quickly, “if you are 
going to stir her up with questions such as you put to 
me, I beg you will not see her.” 

“Boy, boy,” said the old lady, “don’t bubble and 
boil. I have a great regard for you, and care a great 
deal more for you than I do for her, and it is only 
people that I care a great deal for that I stir up. Go 
back to your grindstone, or whatever you were at 
work at, and do not worry your mind about your 
little Cicely. It may be that I shall like her enough 
to wish that I had made the match.” 

When Cicely accidentally met Ralph in the garden, a 
few hours later, she said to him that she could not have 
imagined that Miss Panney was such a dear old lady. 

“Why, Ralph,” said the girl, looking up at him 
with moistened eyes, “she talked to me so sweetly 
and gave me such good advice that I actually cried. 

392 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


And never before, dear Ralph, did good advice make 
me feel so happy that I had to cry.” 

And at this point the two wood- doves, who had 
become regular detectives, actually pecked at each 
other in their despair of emulation. 

Miss Panney’s interview with Cicely had not been 
very long, because the old lady was anxious to see La 
Fleur before the doctor got there, and she went down 
into the kitchen, where, although she did not know 
it, the cook was expecting her. La Fleur’s soul was 
in a state of turbulent triumph, but her expression 
was as soft as a dish of jelly. 

Miss Panney sat down on the chair offered her, 
while the cook remained standing. 

“I came down to ask you,” said the old lady, “if 
you have heard that Dr. Tolbridge and his wife 
have returned. I suppose you will be going back to 
them immediately.” 

“Oh, no,” said La Fleur, her eyes humbly directed 
toward the floor as she spoke, “at least, not for a per- 
manency. I shall get the doctor a good cook. I shall 
make it my business to see that she is a person fully 
capable of filling the position. I have my eyes on 
such a one. As for me, I shall stay here with my 
dear Miss Cicely.” 

“Good heavens, woman !” exclaimed Miss Panney, 
“your Miss Cicely isn’t head of this house. What do 
you mean by talking in that way? Miss Haverley 
is mistress of this establishment. Haven’t you sense 
enough to know that you are in her service, and that 
Miss Drane and her mother are merely boarders?” 

Not a quiver or a shake was seen on the surface of 
the gentle jelly. 


393 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“Oh, of course,” said La Fleur, with her head on 
one side, and her smile at its angle of humility, “I 
meant that I would come to her when she is settled 
here as Mrs. Haverley, and her dear mother is living 
with her, and when Miss Miriam has gone to finish 
her education at whatever seminary is decided on. 
Then this house will seem like my true home, and, 
begging your pardon, madam, you cannot imagine 
how happy I am going to be.” 

“You ! ” exclaimed Miss Panney. “What earthly 
difference does it make to anybody whether you are 
happy or not?” 

The jelly seemed to grow softer and more trans- 
parent. 

“I am only a cook,” said La Fleur, “but I can be 
as happy as persons of the highest quality, and I 
understand their natures very well, having lived with 
them. And words cannot tell you, madam, how it 
gladdens my old heart to think that I had so much to 
do myself with the good fortunes of us all, for the 
Dranes and me are a happy family now, and I hope 
may long be so, and hold together. I am sure I did 
everything that my humble mind could conceive to 
give those two every chance of being together, and to 
keep other people away by discussing household mat- 
ters whenever needed 5 for I had made up my mind 
that Miss Cicely and Mr, Haverley were born for each 
other, and, if I could help them get each other, I 
would do it. When your telegram came, madam, it 
disturbed me, for I saw that it might spoil everything 
by taking him away just at the time when they had 
nobody but each other for company, and when he was 
beginning to forget that he had ever been engaged to 
394 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


Miss Bannister, as you told me lie was, madam, though 
I think you must have been a little mistaken, as we 
are all apt to be through thinking that things are as 
we want them to be. But I couldn’t help feeling 
thankful that nobody but me was home when the 
telegram was brought without any envelope on it, and 
I had no chance to give it to him until it was too late 
to take a train that night ; for the trouble the poor 
gentleman was in on account of his sister, being sure, 
of course, that something had happened to her, put 
him into such a doleful way that Miss Cicely gave 
herself up, heart and soul, to comfort him. And when 
a beautiful young woman does that for a young man, 
their hearts are sure to run together, like two eggs 
broken into one bowl. Now that’s exactly what theirs 
did that night, for, being so anxious about them, I 
watched them and kept Mrs. Drane away. The very 
next morning, when I asked Miss Cicely to go into the 
garden and pick some lettuce, and then told him where 
she was, he offered himself and was accepted. Bo you 
see, madam, that, without boasting, or exalting myself 
above others, I may really claim that I made this 
match that I set my heart on ; although, to be sure, 
—for I don’t take away rightful credit from anybody, 
—some of the credit is yours for having softened up 
their hearts with your telegram, just at the very 
moment when that sort of softening could be of the 
most use.” 

Miss Panney sat up, very cold and severe. 

“La Fleur,” said she, “I thought you were a cook 
who prided herself on attending to her business. 
Since I have been sitting here, listening to your 
twaddle, the cat has been making herself comfortable 
395 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

in that pan of bread dough that you set by the fire to 
rise.” 

La Fleur turned around. Her impulse was to seize 
a poker and rush at the cat. But she stood where she 
was and infused more benignity into her smile. 

“Poor thing,” said she, “she doesn’t do any harm. 
There’s a thick towel over the pan, and I should be 
ashamed of my yeast if it couldn’t lift a cat.” 

When Miss Panney went up-stairs she laughed. She 
did not want to laugh, but she could not help it. She 
had scarcely driven out of the gate when she met Dr. 
Tolbridge. 

“A pretty trick you have played me ! ” he cried. 

“Yes, indeed, a very pretty one,” replied the old 
lady, pulling up her mare. “I thought you knew me 
better than to think that I would come here to look 
into this engagement business with you or anybody 
else, or that I would let you get ahead of me, either. 
Well, I have got all the points I want, and more, too, 
and now you can go along, and Mr. Ralph will tell 
you that he is the happiest man in the world, and 
your secretary will tell you that she is the happiest 
young woman, and the cook you are going to lose will 
vow that she is the happiest old woman, and if you 
stay until Mrs. Drane and Miriam come back, the one 
will tell you that she is the happiest middle-aged 
woman, and the other that she is the happiest girl, 
and if you give Mike half a dollar, he ^ill tell you 
that he is the happiest negro in the world. Click ! ” 

The doctor went on to Cobhurst, where Mrs. Drane 
and Miriam soon arrived, and he heard everything 
that Miss Panney told him he would hear. 


396 


CHAPTER XLIII 


THE SIREN AND THE IRON 

The summer, the Dranes, La Fleur, and Miriam had 
all left Cobhurst. The summer had gone south for an 
eight months’ stay ; the Dranes had gone to their old 
Pennsylvania home to settle up their affairs and pre- 
pare for the marriage of the younger lady, which was 
to take place early in the coming spring ; La Fleur 
had returned to the Tolbridges’ to remain until the 
new Cobhurst household should be organized ; and 
Miriam, whose association with Dora and Cicely had 
aroused her somewhat dormant aspirations in an edu- 
cational direction, had gone to Mrs. Stone’s school for 
the winter term. 

November had come to Cobhurst, and there Ralph 
remained to get his farm ready for the winter, and hi 5 
house in order for the bride who would come with the 
first young leaves. He did not regret this period of 
solitary bachelorhood, for, not having very much 
money, he required a good deal of time to do what 
was to be done. 

He had planned a good deal of refitting for the 
house, although not so much as to deprive it of any of 
those characteristics which made it dear old Cobhurst. 

397 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


And there were endless things to do on the farm, the 
most important of which, in his eyes, was the breaking 
of the pair of colts, which task he intended to take 
into his own hands. Mrs. Browning and the gig were 
very well in their places, but something more would 
be needed when the green leaves came. 

Seraphina, Mike’s sister, now ruled in the kitchen, 
but Ralph’s thoughts had acquired such a habit of 
leaving the subject on which he was engaged and fly- 
ing southward, that even when he took a meal with 
the Tolbridges, which happened not infrequently, he 
scarcely noticed the difference between their table 
and his own. Nothing stronger than this could be 
said regarding his present power of abstracting his 
mind from surrounding circumstances. 

His income was a limited one, although it had been 
a good deal helped by the products of his farm, and 
he had to do a great deal of calculating with his pencil 
before he dared to order work which would oblige 
him to draw a check with his pen. But by thus giv- 
ing two dollars’ worth of thought to every dollar of 
expenditure, he made his money go a long way, and 
the lively and personal interest he took in every little 
improvement made a garden fence to him of as much 
importance and satisfaction as a new post-office would 
have been to the people of Thorbury. 

One day he went into a hardware store of the town 
to buy some nails, and there he met Miss Panney, who 
had just purchased a corkscrew. 

“A thing you will not want for some time,” she 
said, “for you do not look as if you needed anything 
to cheer your soul. Now tell me, young man, is it really 
the engagement rapture that has lasted all this time ? ” 
398 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“Oh, yes/’ said Ralph, laughing, “and, besides that, 
I have had all sorts of good fortune. For instance, 
one of my hens, setting unbeknown to anybody in a 
warm corner of the barn, has hatched out a dozen 
little chicks. Think of that at this season ! I have 
put them in a warm room, and by the time we begin 
housekeeping we shall have spring chickens to eat 
before anybody else. And then, there is that black 
colt, Dom Pedro. I had great doubts about him, be- 
cause he showed such decided symptoms of free will, 
but now he is behaving beautifully. He has become 
thoroughly reconciled to a hay-cart. I have driven him 
in a light wagon with his sister, and he is just as good 
as she is, and yesterday I drove him single, and find 
that he has made up his mind to learn everything I 
can teach him. Now isn ; t that a fine thing? ” 

“Oh, yes,” said Miss Panney, “it must be such things 
as those that make your eyes sparkle ! But of course 
it warms your heart to give her delicate eating when 
she first comes to you, and to have a fine pair of horses 
for her to drive behind. If your face beams as it does 
now while she is away, it will serve as an electric light 
when she comes back. Good fortune ! Oh, yes, of 
course you consider that you have it in full measure. 
But we are sometimes apt to look on our friends’ good 
fortune in an odd way. Now, if I had wanted you to 
go to Boston to get rich, and instead of that you had 
insisted on going to Nantucket, and had become rich 
there, I suppose that I should have been satisfied as 
long as you were prosperous, but I do not believe I 
would have been— at least, not entirely so. In this 
world we do want people to do what we think they 
ought to do.” 


399 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“Yes” said Ralph, knowingly, “I see. But now, 
Miss Panney, don’t you really think that Boston would 
have been too rich a place for me — that it would 
have expected too much of me, and that perhaps it 
would have done too much for me ? Boston is a good 
enough place, but if you only knew how much lovelier 
Nantucket is—” 

“Stop, stop, boy ! ” said the old lady. “I am getting 
so old now that I am obliged to stop happy people 
and disappointed people from talking to me. If I 
listened to all they had to say, I should have no time 
for anything else. By the way, have you heard any 
news from the Bannister family? That sedate Her- 
bert is going to be married, and he intends to live 
with his wife in the Bannister mansion.” 

“And how will his sister like that? ” asked Ralph. 

“She won’t like it at all. She has told me she is 
going away.” 

“I am sorry for that,” he said. “That is too bad.” 

“Not at all. She could not do better. A girl like 
that in a town such as Thorbury, with nobody to 
marry her but the rector, is as much out of place as a 
canary-bird in a poultry-yard. I have advised her to 
visit her relatives in town, and go with them to 
Europe, where I hope she will marry a prince. Good 
conscience ! Look at her ! Imagine that girl in a 
sweeping velvet robe, with one great diamond blazing 
on her breast.” 

Ralph turned quickly, and as his eyes fell upon 
Dora as she entered the store, it struck him that no 
royal gowns could make her more beautiful than she 
was at that moment. 

“Now, my dear,” said Miss Panney, “what did you 
400 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

come here for? Do you want a saw or a pitch- 
fork ?” 

“I came / 7 said Dora, with her most charming smile, 
“ because I saw you two in here, and I wanted to speak 
to you. It is a funny place for this sort of thing, but 
I do not see either of you very often now, and I 
thought I would like to tell you, before you heard it 
from any one else, of my engagement.” 

“To whom ? 77 cried Miss Panney, in a voice that 
made the ox-chains rattle. 

Dora looked around anxiously, but there was no one 
in the front part of the store. 

“To Mr. Ames , 77 she replied. 

“The rector ! 77 exclaimed Ralph. 

“Yes , 77 said Dora. “I want to write to Miriam 
about it, and, do you know, I have lost her address . 77 

“Dora Bannister , 77 interrupted Miss Panney, “it 
may be a little early to make bridal presents, but I 
want to give you this corkscrew. It is a very good 
one, and I think that after a while you will have need 
of it. Good morning . 77 

When the old lady had abruptly departed, the two 
young people laughed, and Ralph offered his congrat- 
ulations. 

“I do not know Mr. Ames very well , 77 he said, “but 
I have heard no end of good of him. But this is very 
surprising. It seems — 77 

“Seems what ? 77 asked Dora. 

“Well, since you ask me , 77 Ralph answered, hesitat- 
ing a little, “it seems odd— not, perhaps, that you 
should marry the rector, but that you should marry 
anybody. You appear to me too young to marry . 77 

“Oh, indeed ! 77 said Dora, “you think that ? 77 

401 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“I do not know that you understand me/’ said 
Ralph, “but I mean that you are so full of youth— and 
all that, and enjoy life so much, that it is a pity that 
you should not have more of youthful enjoyment be- 
fore you begin any other kind . 77 

Dora laughed. 

“Truly , 77 said she, “I never looked at the matter in 
that light. Perhaps I ought to have done so. You 
think me too young, and if you had had a chance, 
perhaps you would have warned me ! You are so kind 
and so considerate, but don’t you think you ought to 
speak to Mr. Ames about it? He does not know you 
very well, but he has heard no end of good of you, and 
perhaps what you say might make him reflect . 77 

As she spoke she looked at him with her eyes not 
quite so wide open as usual. Ralph returned her 
gaze steadfastly. 

“I know what you are thinking of , 77 he said. “You 
are thinking of a fable with an animal in it and some 
fruit, and the animal was a small one, and the fruit 
was on a high trellis . 77 

“Oh, dear ! 77 said Dora. “It must be very nice to 
have read as much as you have, and to know fables 
and all sorts of things to refer to. But my life hasn’t 
been long enough for all that . 77 

The more Ralph’s mind dwelt upon the matter, the 
more dissatisfied did he feel that this beautiful young 
creature should marry the rector. If, in truth, she 
applied the fable to him, this was all the more reason 
why he should feel sorry for her. If anything of all 
this showed itself in his eyes, he did not know it, but 
Dora’s eyes opened to their full width, and grew 
softer. 


402 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


“I expect I surprise you,” she said, “by talking to 
you of these things, but I have so few friends to con- 
fide in. Herbert is wrapped up in his own engage- 
ment, and Mrs. Bannister is entirely apart from me. 
Almost ever since I have known you two, I have felt 
that Miriam and you were friends with whom I could 
talk freely, and I am now going to tell you— and I 
know you will never mention it— that I do not believe 
I shall ever marry Mr. Ames.” 

“What !” exclaimed Ralph. “Didn’t you say you 
were engaged to him f ” 

“Of course I said so, and I am. And I was very 
glad to be able to say it to Miss Panney, for she is 
always bothering me about such things. But the en- 
gagement is a peculiar one. Mr. Ames has been com- 
ing to see me for a long time, and I think it was 
because he heard that I was planning to go away that 
he decided to declare himself at once, before he lost 
his opportunity. I told him that I had never thought 
of anything of the sort, but he was very insistent, and 
at last I consented, provided the engagement should 
be a long one, and that if, after I had seen more of the 
world and knew myself better, I should decide to 
change my mind, I must be allowed to do so. He 
fought terribly against this, but there was nothing for 
him to do but agree, and so now we are engaged on 
approbation, as it were. This is a great relief to me 
in various ways, because I feel as if I were safely 
anchored, and not drifting about whichever way the 
wind blows, while other people are sailing where they 
want to, and yet, whenever I please, I can loosen my 
anchor, and spread my sails, and skim away over the 
beautiful sea.” 


403 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


It is seldom that a siren, leaning lightly against a 
bright new hay-cutter, with a background of iron 
rakes and hoes and spades, sings her soft song. But 
it was so now, and Dora, her heart beating quickly, 
looked from under her long lashes to note the effect 
of her words. 

“If he will drop the little Drane,” she said to her- 
self, “I will drop the rector.” 

But Ralph stood looking past her. It was as plain 
as could be that he was not approaching the rocks— 
that he did not like the song, and that he was think- 
ing what he should say about it. 

“Oh, dear ! ” said Dora, suddenly starting, “I have 
ever so much to do this morning, and it must be nearly 
noon. I wonder what made that queer Miss Panney 
think of giving me this corkscrew.” 

Ralph knew very well that the old lady meant the 
little implement as a figurative auxiliary of consola- 
tion, but he merely remarked that Miss Panney did 
and gave very queer things. He opened the door for 
her, and she bade him good-by and went out. 

She crossed the street, and when on the opposite 
sidewalk she turned her luminous eyes back upon 
the glass doors she had passed through. 

But there was no one looking out after her. Ralph 
was standing at the counter, buying nails. 


404 


CHAPTER XLIY 


LA FLEUR’S SOUL REVELS, AND MISS PANNEY 
PREPARES TO MAKE A FIRE 

Cobhurst never looked more lovely than in the early 
June of the following year. With the beauty of the 
trees, the grass, the flowers, the vines, and all things 
natural, it possessed the added attractiveness of a 
certain personal equation. To all the happy dwellers 
therein the dear old house appeared like one in which 
good people had always lived. Although they used 
to think that it was as charming as could be, they now 
perceived that the old mansion and all its surround- 
ings had shown strong evidences of that system of 
management which Mike called ramshackle. Xo one 
said a word against any of the changes that Ralph had 
made, for in spite of them Cobhurst was still Cobhurst. 

On a bench under a tree by the side of the house sat 
La Fleur, shelling some early spring peas, a tin basin 
of which she held in her lap. Mrs. Drane, in a rustic 
chair near by, was sewing, and Miriam, who had come 
laden with blossoms from the orchard, had stopped in 
the pleasant shade. Mike, absolutely picturesque in 
a broad new straw hat, was out in the sunshine raking 
some grass he had cut, and Seraphina, who remained 
405 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


in the household as general assistant, could be seen 
through the open window of the kitchen. 

“As I told you before, madam/’ said La Fleur, “I 
don’t think you need feel the least fear about the 
young horses. Their master has a steady hand, and 
they know his voice, and as for Mrs. Haverley, she’s 
no more afraid of them than if they were two sheep. 
As they drove off this afternoon, I had a feeling as if 
I were living with some of those great families in the 
old country in whose service I have been. ‘ For,’ said 
I to myself, ‘here is the young master of the house 
actually going to drive out with his handsome wife 
and his spirited horses, and that in the very middle of 
the working-day, and without the prospect of making 
a penny of profit.’ You don’t see that often in this 
country, except, perhaps, among the very, very rich 
who don’t have to work. But it is a good sign when 
a gentleman like Mr. Haverley sets such an upper- 
toned example to his fellow young men. 

“I spoke of that to Dr. Tolbridge once. ‘Begging 
your pardon, sir,’ said I, ‘it seems to me that you 
never drive out except when you have to.’ ‘Which 
is true,’ said he, ‘because I have to do it so much.’ 
‘You will excuse me, sir, for saying so,’ said I, ‘but if 
you did things for pleasure sometimes, your mind 
would be rested, and you would feel more like com- 
prehending the deliciousness of some of my special 
dishes, which I notice you now and again say nothing 
about, because you are so hungry, when you eat them, 
you don’t notice their savoriness.’ ” 

“La Fleur,” said Mrs. Drane, “I am surprised that 
you should have spoken to the doctor in that way.” 

“Oh, I have a mind,” said La Fleur, “and I must 
406 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


speak it. My mind is like a young horse — if I don’t 
use it, it gets out of condition. And I don’t fear to 
speak to the doctor. He has brains, and he knows I 
have brains, and he understands me. He said some- 
thing like that when I left him, and I am sure I never 
could have had a night’s rest since if I hadn’t put a 
good woman there in my place. With what Mary 
Woodyard knows already, and with me to pop in on 
her whenever I can coax Michael to drive me to town, 
the doctor should never have need for any of his own 
medicines, so far as digestion goes.” 

“Don’t you think,” interpolated Miriam, “that 
there is a great deal more said and done about eating 
than the subject is worth? ” 

Mrs. Drane looked a little anxiously at La Fleur, 
but the cook did not in the least resent the re- 
mark. 

“You are young yet, Miss Miriam,” she said, “but 
when you are older, you will think more of the higher 
branches of education, the very topmost of which is 
cookery. But it’s not only young people, but a good 
many older ones, and some of them of high station, 
too, who think that cooking is not a fit matter for the 
intellect to work on. When I lived with Lady 
Hartleberry, she said over and over to my lord, and 
me, too, that she objected to the art works I sent up 
to the table, because she said that the human soul 
ought to have something better to do than to give 
itself up to the preparation of dishes that were no 
better to sustain the body than if they had been as 
plain as a pikestaff. But I didn’t mind her, and 
everything that Tolati or La Fleur ever taught me, 
and everything I invented for myself, I did in that 
407 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 

house. My lady was an awfully serious woman, and 
very particular about public worship, and on Sunday 
morning she used to send the butler around to every 
servant with a little book, and in that he put down 
what church each one was going to, and at what time 
of day they would go. But when he came to me, I 
always said, ‘ La Fleur goes to church when she likes 
and where she chooses.’ And the butler, being a man 
of brains, set down any church and time that hap- 
pened to suit his fancy, and my lady was never the 
wiser, and if I felt like going to church, I went, and 
if I didn’t, I didn’t. But when the family went to 
their seat in Scotland, they did not take their butler 
with them, and the piper was sent round on Sunday 
morning to find out about the servants going to 
church. When he came to me, I said the same thing 
I had always said, and, do you know, that pink- 
headed Scotchman put it down in the book and 
carried it to my lady. When she read it, she was in 
a great rage, to be sure, and sent for me and wanted 
to know what I meant by such a message. Then I 
told her I meant no offence by it, and that I didn’t 
think the idiot would put it down, but that I was too 
old to change my ways, and that if her ladyship wasn’t 
willing that I should keep on in them, she would have 
to dismiss me. Then I courtesied and left her, and 
my lord, when he heard of it, got a new piper. 1 For,’ 
said he, ‘a fool’s a dangerous thing to have in the 
house.’ And I stayed on two years. So you see, Miss 
Miriam, that we are getting to the point— even my 
strait-laced lady made her opinions about church- 
going give way before high art in her cook. For, as 
much as she might say against my creations and corn- 
408 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


positions, she had gotten so used to ’em, she couldn’t 
do without ’em.” 

“Well,” said Miriam, “I suppose when the time 
comes when I do not like everything as I do now, I 
shall care more for some things. But I mustn’t sit 
here— I must go up to my sewing.” 

“ Miriam ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Drane, “what on earth 
are you working at?— shutting yourself up, day after 
day, in your room, and at hours, too, when every- 
thing is so pleasant outside. Cannot you bring out 
here what you are doing ? ” 

“No,” said Miriam, “because it is a secret; but it 
is nearly finished, and as I shall have to tell you 
about it very soon, I may as well do it now : I have 
been altering Judith Pace walk’s teaberry gown for 
Cicely. It was altered once for me, and that makes 
it all the harder to make it fit her now. I am not 
very good at that sort of thing, and so it has taken 
me a long time. I expected to have it ready for her 
when she came back from the wedding trip, but I 
could not do it. I shall finish it to-day, however, and 
to-morrow I am going to invest her with it. She is 
now the head of the house, and it is she who should 
wear the teaberry gown. Don’t tell her, please, until 
to-morrow. I thought it would be nice to have a little 
ceremony about it, and in that case I shall have to 
have some one to help me.” 

“It is very good of you, my dear,” said Mrs. Drane, 
“to think of such a thing, and Cicely and your 
brother will be delighted, I know, to find out what 
you think of this change of administration. Ralph 
said to me the other day that he was afraid you were 
not altogether happy in yielding your place to 
409 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


another. He had noticed that you had gotten into 
the habit of going off by yourself.” 

Miriam laughed. 

“ Just wait until he hears the beautiful speech I am 
going to make to-morrow, and then he will see what 
a wise fellow he is.” 

“Mrs. Drane ! Miss Miriam ! ” exclaimed La Fleur, 
her face beginning to glow with emotion, “let me 
help to make this a grand occasion. Let me get up 
a beautiful lunch. There isn’t much time, it is true, 
but I can do it. I’ll make Michael drive me to town 
early in the morning, and I’ll have everything ready 
in time. A dinner would be all very well, but a 
luncheon gives so much better chance to the imagina- 
tion and the intellect. There’re some things you 
have to have at a dinner, but at a lunch there is noth- 
ing you are obliged to have, and nothing you may 
not have if you want it. And if you don’t mind, I’d 
like you to ask old Miss Panney. I’ve been a good 
deal at odds with her since I have known her, but 
I’m satisfied now, and if there is anything I can do to 
make her satisfied, I’m more than ready. Besides, 
when I do get up anything extraordinary in the way 
of a meal, I like to have people at the table who can 
appreciate it ; and as for that, I haven’t met any- 
body in this country who is as well grounded in good 
eating as that old lady is.” 

Her proposition gladly agreed to, La Fleur rose to 
a high heaven of excited delight. She had had no 
chance to show her skill in a wedding breakfast, for 
the young couple had been married very quietly in 
Pennsylvania, and she was now elated with the idea 
410 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


of exhibiting her highest abilities in an Investiture 
Luncheon. 

She handed the basin of peas through the open 
window to Seraphina, and retired to her room, to 
study, to plan, and to revel in flights of epicurean 
fancy. 

“Mike,” said Seraphina to her brother, who was 
now raking the grass near the kitchen window, “did 
you hear dat ar ol’ cook a-talkin’ jes now!” 

“No,” said Mike, “I hain’t got no time to hearken 
to people talkin’, ’cept they’re talkin’ to me, and it 
’pends on who they is whether I listens then or not.” 

“That fool thinks she made this world,” said 
Seraphina. “I’ve been thinkin’ she had some notion 
like dat — she do put on such a’rs.” 

“Git out,” said Mike. “You never heard her say 
nothin’ like that.” 

“I didn’t hear all she said,” replied the colored 
woman, “but I heard more’n ’nough, and I heard her 
talkin’ about her creation. Her creation, indeed ! 
I’ll let her know one thing— she didn’t make me.” 

“Now look-a here, Seraphiny,” said Mike, “the 
more you shet up now, now you’s in the prime of life, 
the gooder you’ll feel when you gits old. And so long 
as Mrs. Flower makes them thar three-inch-deep pies 
for me, I don’t care who she thinks she made, and 
who she thinks she didn’t make. Thar, now, that’s 
my opinion.” 

The Investiture Luncheon, at which the Tolbridges 
and Miss Panney were present, was truly a grand and 
beautiful affair, to which Dora would certainly have 
411 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


been invited bad she not been absent on her bridal 
trip with Mr. Ames. Seldom had La Fleur or either 
of her husbands prepared for prince, ambassador, or 
titled gourmand a meal which better satisfied the 
loftiest ontreaches of the soul in the truest interests 
of the palate. 

Cicely appeared in the teaberry gown, and if the 
spirit of Judith Pacewalk hovered o’er the scene, and 
allowed its gaze to wander from the charming bride, 
over the happy faces of the rest of the company, to 
the half-open door of the dining-room, where shone 
the radiant face of the proudest cook in the world, it 
must have been as well satisfied with the fate of the 
pink garment as it could possibly expect to be. 

It was late in the afternoon when the luncheon 
party broke up, and although Miss Panney was the 
last guest to leave, she did not go home, but drove 
herself to Thorbury, and tied her roan mare in front 
of the office of Mr. Herbert Bannister. When the 
young lawyer looked up and perceived his visitor, he 
heaved a sigh, for he had expected in a few moments 
to lock up his desk, and stop, on his way home, at the 
house of his lady-love. But the presence of Miss 
Panney at his office meant business, and business with 
her meant a protracted session. Miss Panney did not 
notice the sigh, and, if she had, it would not have 
affected her. Her soul had been satisfied this day, 
and no trifle could disturb her serenity. 

“How, what I want,” said she, after a good deal of 
prefatory remark, “is for you to give me my will. I 
want to alter it.” 

“But, madam,” said young Bannister, when he had 
heard the alterations desired by Miss Panney, “is not 
412 


THE GIRL AT COBHURST 


this a little quixotic? Excuse me for saying so. Mr. 
Haverley is not even related to you, and you are 
bestowing upon him—” 

“ Herbert Bannister,” said the old lady, “if you 
were your father instead of yourself, you would know 
that this young man ought to have been my grand- 
son. He isn’t ; but I choose to consider him as such, 
and as such I shall leave him what will make him a 
worthy lord of Cobhurst. Bring me the new will as 
soon as it is ready, and bring also the old one, with 
all the papers I have given you, from time to time, 
regarding the disposition of my property. I shall 
burn them, every one, and although it may set the 
Wit tons’ chimney on fire, the conflagration will make 
me happy.” 


413 




7 65 * 








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